


Sea of Hidden Dragon

by Shiraume



Category: Prince of Tennis (TV), Tennis no Oujisama | Prince of Tennis
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, And Rikkai is sort of evil here too, Atobe is basically a god, BAMF Yukimura Seiichi, Except it's fake history, F/M, Frenemies, Friendship, Fudomine snuck in screentime, Het and Slash, I REGRET NOTHING, M/M, Martial Art As Tennis Substitute, NaNoWriMo, No seriously more politics than you can shake a stick at, Politics, Rivalry, Seishun Still the Hero Team, Seriously I wrote Het, Shitenhouji Is Awesome, So why is this so Rikkai-centric, Sorry Ryoma, Vaguely Asiatic Setting, What Was I Thinking?, girls are awesome
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-18
Updated: 2016-02-22
Packaged: 2018-01-19 21:26:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 44,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1484620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shiraume/pseuds/Shiraume
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The empire stands at the brink of a civil war.</p><p>The Emperor is old, his chosen heir but three years of age. The Empress, an imperial princess by birth, has chosen a different heir. Each looks to the powerful dominions within the empire to support their respective claims. While the Emperor singles out Hyoutei for regency, the Empress seeks to sway Rikkai to her side.</p><p>And to this troubled sea returns Seishun, newly victorious from a campaign, its general a rising star in the empire – and a potential new player in the oncoming storm.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Book I: Troubled Sea - Chapter 01

**Author's Note:**

> NaNoWriMo Project for 2012 and 2013. Total word count is ~101K at this time. Pseudo-historical AU set in vaguely Far Eastern (China/Korea/Japan) culture. M/R rating for adult content. Drama, romance and...drama. Also action ~~because tennis is basically martial arts equivalent in TeniPuri anyway~~. And more politics than you can shake a stick at.
> 
> ...Yeah, I’ll come up with better notes later.

****

**SEA OF HIDDEN DRAGON**

****

**와룡장해 :: 臥龍藏海**

  
_by_ _**Shiraume**_  


[11/2012 & 11/2013]

****

**BOOK I: TROUBLED SEA**

_Chapter 01_

[4/18/2014 Version]

Golden dragons twisted over amber sky of silk. Long sleeve trailed over thick comforter as an aged hand swept over brows as white as the sheets underneath. The crease between the fine brows relaxed minutely, only to spasm violently in pain a heartbeat later.

“Promise me...”

The voice was so faint; it took straining of all senses to make out the words. The hand that rose from the bed, trailing a white sleeve embroidered with red-crowned cranes, was as pale as snow, nearly translucent even in the dim light of the room. Her thin hand was tenderly cradled with both hands as the Emperor, his aged face lined with grief, bent lower, intent on catching every whisper that escaped her bloodless lips. “Anything. Anything under the heaven.”

“You’ll...protect my son...won’t you?” Breaths were drawn in painful gasps as the words were spoken. The woman’s ashen brows drew closer, chest constricting with weak coughs. She was beautiful, as wasted and gaunt with sickness as she was. The Emperor tightened his hands around hers, willing the fit to subside. “Please,” she struggled to continue, through the increasingly erratic breaths, forcing out each word. “Your Majesty, please. Protect...protect my son.”

“He is my only son,” the Emperor promised her. “I will protect him with my life.”

The fever-bright eyes swept over the Emperor’s face, which was careworn and lined with years, to the feathery-white strands interwoven with dark hair, turning his head pale grey. Despite the strength of his voice and his mien, the Emperor was old. Another face flashed in her thoughts, younger than the Emperor’s, handsome and cold, too strong-featured to be beautiful, but with strength in her fierce gaze. She shuddered. “Please.” Her voice grew fainter. Her eyes scrunched shut as another fresh spasm of pain wracked her body. “Please,” she whispered without sound. Her chest heaved, but she could feel no air, no relief. Just chill in her limbs, burning in her throat, and fading grey before her eyes.

As the body on the bed shuddered and went still, a sob escaped the Emperor. A healer approached cautiously, but was waved back. After long moment of silence, the Emperor closed those unseeing eyes with his own hand. When the healer finally drew white sheet over the still face, the Emperor put his head in his hands and wept silently.

On the smooth golden coverlet, pairs of Mandarin ducks swam in ponds with lotus blossoms and nested under plum trees in full bloom.

~*~*~*~

“I hear Lady Yukimura has returned.”

“So is it true? That she went on a retreat because of her health?”

“No, I heard...” Soft voice, lowered to a whisper. “..I heard she fled to the temple because she’d fallen in love with someone, and Lord Yukimura didn’t approve.”

“But Lord Yukimura would never have allowed her to go to the temple if that was the case.”

“Which explains why she’s back so soon, doesn’t it? It would have taken someone really brave, courting Lady Yukimura. Everyone knows the Empress herself—”

“Quiet! It’s Lady Yukimura!”

A hush fell. The women bowed respectfully as Lady Yukimura approached, which she returned gracefully. Without addressing anyone, Lady Yukimura continued toward to the innermost part of the palace, where the Empress resided. Scarcely before she was out of earshot, the whispers began afresh.

“—Could mean only one thing, when the Lady of Green Pavilion passed away last week—”

“Poor little prince. Losing his mother robs him of his last protector. No one else would dare, not when the Empress opposes him.”

“And Lord Yukimura is just the ally Empress needs. She will want to cement an alliance through marriage, don’t you think?”

“But the Empress has no daughters.”

“She has, however, two nephews left. You know, from her older sister, Princess Yoshiko.”

“Then—”

“Most likely the Empress seeks marriage between one of her nephews and the Lady Yukimura – Lord Yukimura’s only sister.”

“But would Lord Yukimura agree? Even though they’re the children of Princess Yoshiko, their father’s status...”

“Especially after the scandal caused by Lady Fuji.”

There were stifled giggles at the mention of the Lady Fuji. Fuji Yumiko. Princess Yoshiko's first-born. A peerless beauty widely nicknamed the Peony of the Empire, Lady Fuji had once been the pride and joy of the childless Empress. That was, until the young lady, then scarcely nineteen, eloped with a young poet to avoid an arranged marriage. Her flight was still a legend, passed on through quiet whispers along the corridors of the Inner Court. Although the younger nobles often looked at her story as that of an inspired romance, it was a source of great embarrassment to both the Empress and the Fuji family.

Heedless of the whispers and giggles behind her, Lady Yukimura passed through the gardens of the Inner Court, her heather-grey eyes firmly fixed forward. She noticed nothing of the beauty around her, the garden in full throes of the early summer. Tree peonies were in bloom, each more radiant than the last, but her eyes were blind to their loveliness. The birds sang in the trees and insects called, yet her ears were closed to their delight.

Her eyes never once flickered as she stopped outside the Empress’s pavilion and waited to be announced. The doors opened and the attendants bowed as she entered. Then the doors closed behind her, swallowing her figure whole.

~*~*~*~

On the other side of the imperial palace, meticulously-attended garden sprawled between the Outer and Inner Court. Just outside the walls enclosing the garden, in a secluded corner of the Outer Court, a young man stood, his bow drawn. His eyes, which never moved from the target, were of startling blue color.

Fuji let another arrow fly, watching expressionlessly as it found its mark with unerring accuracy, splitting its predecessor in half. With practiced motion, he notched another arrow and lifted his bow, drawing back the bowstring in one smooth movement. On the target were three split arrows and one whole one, and if he had anything to say about it, there would be four split arrows in a moment.

A bird called sharply, and the sound of wings, close enough to flutter feathers about him, startled Fuji. “Ah—” Fuji watched as his arrow – prematurely released – turned wide, flying in a wide parabola over the wall. Displeased frown tightened his lips, but next moment he shrugged. No one was in the garden at this hour, and he had free access throughout most of the imperial palace, even in the Inner Court. He could easily walk over and look for his arrow at leisure. With his bow in hand, Fuji walked through the open gateway to the garden, where the tree peonies were in full bloom.

~*~*~*~

A hand reached out to touch a perfect peony blossom, strangely sensuous even in its pure white beauty. The next instant, an arrow whistled just under his hand, piercing the peony blossom in the center. He shook the arrow clear of the shattered petals and examined it. The arrow bore an unfamiliar personal design on its shaft, its tail adorned with blue feather of a kingfisher. He did not recognize it, but there weren’t many people who could practice archery in the palace grounds. Assuming, of course, the owner wanted it back.

Just then, a voice called, breaking him out of his reverie. He headed to the western gate, toward the caller. And as he moved away, something sparkled as it dropped soundlessly to the ground.

When Fuji came through the northern gate, the garden was empty. Fuji cast his glance all around, seeking his lost arrow. As he walked down the path, a flash of color caught his eyes. Amidst the ruin of white petals scattered on the ground lay a small jade carving in the shape of a dragon. Fuji bent down to retrieve the pendant, noting its beautiful blue-green shade and blue silk cord with ornate knot. The spotlessly even color and flawless quality of the stone told him the jade was of the highest grade, and the owner must want it back. Resolved to ask around later, Fuji tucked it into his robe, and resumed his search for the lost arrow.

A strong wind swept across the garden, scattering the peony petals and billowing them upward, sweeping the entire garden in white.

~*~*~*~

“ _You_ lost an arrow? You? Heir to one of the Empire’s Shitennou, the great-grandson of the Divine Archer himself? ”

Fuji gave him a reproachful look. “I was distracted.”

“Obviously.” Atobe leaned on one hand, studying him. “So? You can’t possibly be asking me to come and help you look for it.”

“I’ve already looked through the whole garden. I think someone took it. That’s why I came to see you.”

Atobe blinked, then straightened, his movement meticulous and slow. “Let me get this straight,” he said each word measured and even. “You want me to find out who took your arrow?”

Fuji shrugged, his usual smile an inscrutable mask on his face.

“Me, Atobe Keigo, head of the Atobe clan and the acting Lord of Hyoutei, Chief Minister of Ceremonies, search for the culprit behind a missing arrow? Besides which – it’s an arrow, for crying out loud. You have plenty left and can always have more of them made.”

“Well,” Fuji said with admirable gravity. “I thought you of all people would be able to find the culprit.”

“And why would that be?”

Fuji held out his hand, something blue-green and shiny on his palm. “He left behind a clue.”

Atobe took the pendant from Fuji’s hand and examined it. It was an intricately-carved design of a dragon, with blue-green jade body and flashing red rubies for eyes. A rare color, more deep blue than the usual green, but stone was of the top quality without any flaws or unevenness in shade. The silk cord and tassel were worn with repeated use, but it was clear the owner had taken excellent care of it. Near the tip of the dragon’s tail was a tiny design of a six-pointed flower? snowflake? with a pair of characters at the center, so small that naked eyes could make no sense of them. Atobe frowned, turning the pendant in his hand. The seal design looked familiar. In fact, the whole pendant looked strangely familiar, somehow.

“I’ve seen it before,” Atobe said, turning the pendant over in his hand again. “The seal design. But I can’t quite place it. Yet.”

“That’s why I came to you. If anyone, you would recognize it.”

Atobe made a dismissive sound, already busy eliminating possible choices in his head. “I’ll look into it.”

“Thanks, Keigo.”

Atobe’s head snapped up, only to come face to face with Fuji’s sweet, sweet smile. His brow twitched in annoyance. Of course; Atobe was a self-proclaimed expert in heraldry, thoroughly acquainted with the history of every notable family in the empire. And he would never be able to leave this one alone, because to admit he didn’t know who owned this pendant would be admitting defeat. And Atobe Keigo never accepted defeat.

“In my spare time,” Atobe drawled. “Unlike you, affairs of the state occupy my waking hours.”

“Mm.” Fuji’s attention was already wandering, eyes gliding over the papers on Atobe’s desk with disinterest. “Does this mean you won't be coming around for dinner this week?”

Atobe was tempted to refuse outright, but hesitated. He loved visiting Fuji's house. Fuji’s great-grandfather’s mansion, to be more exact. And Fuji knew it.

"If you insist, I might drop by."

Fuji smiled, knowing and mischievous. “Of course.” He rose to go, fingers giving the dragon pendant a last caress, which made Atobe twitch in annoyance. An unnecessary reminder – his mind would be preoccupied with it all afternoon. He had always been pathologically unable to leave a puzzle alone.

Just at the door of the office, Fuji paused. “By the way, you have your dates backward. The harvest ceremony should take place two nights before the circle dance, which should come last, on the night of the full moon. You might want to double-check the calendar.”

Reflexively Atobe looked down at his papers, and realized Fuji was right. Before he could retort he’d have figured that out on his own, Fuji had already disappeared.

Cursing all the smart-mouthed imperial brats in general, Atobe reached for the almanac.

~*~*~*~

Upon her return, Lady Yukimura was informed that her brother was waiting in her quarters. With a suppressed sigh, she headed back to the west wing of the main building, which was set aside for her use. Her attendants were waiting anxiously outside her own room.

“Lord Yukimura has been waiting for nearly two hours,” murmured her chief handmaiden. “He requests that you join him as soon as you return.”

“As if I can do otherwise, when he waits for me in my own room?” She gave the handmaiden a sharp look. “Next time, do not allow him or anyone else in my room when I am not present.”

“But—”

“Do you serve me? Or do you serve my brother?” Lady Yukimura cut her off, relentless. “I have given you my orders. I expect you to obey. How is not my concern.”

After a moment under Lady Yukimura’s icy gaze, the chief handmaiden quailed, bowing her head. “I will do so in the future, my lady.”

A short nod, and Lady Yukimura faced the doors, which other attendants hastily opened for her. Without looking back she stepped inside her richly decorated room. Her chief handmaiden followed her after taking a tray from one of the maids, which she then set down on the table. She bowed, and retreated to stand by the door with her head respectfully lowered.

Lady Yukimura strode in without sparing single glance towards the uninvited guest who sat at her table. She briskly made her way to her mirror instead, sitting down at her dressing table. Methodically, she took off her necklace of jade beads and the delicately layered leaves of gold that hung from her ears. Next, she plucked the bracelets and rings from her hands, and then the jeweled ornaments from her hair, pins and sticks and combs with delicate flowers and bird motifs, each made of gold and studded with precious gemstones. When the last of the ornaments was gone from her hair, her brother, who had been watching her patiently, finally spoke. 

“What did the Empress say?”

Her lips tightened to a thin line, and Lady Yukimura took her time tucking away her jewelry and ornaments in lacquered wooden boxes. Each box had its glossy surface inlaid with mother-of-pearl in delicate, iridescent silver lines. Just when her brother was about to speak again, she closed the lid of her jewelry box with a sharp tap of wood on wood. “Exactly what you expected her to say, I presume.”

“You are angry with me.” It was not a question.

“I don’t like people entering my room without my permission,” she said blandly, deliberately missing his point.

Her brother’s lips quirked wryly. “That, too. But you do realize why I did it, don’t you?”

Lady Yukimura’s thin fingers dug into the wooden surface. “You made it clear that you found him unworthy of our name.” She raised her eyes to glare at the image of her brother in the mirror. “Does it matter now? I’ve returned, just as you wished. And I’ll marry whoever the Empress orders me to marry, just as you wish.”

Her brother’s reply was preceded by a gentle sigh. “ _He_ made it clear that he was unworthy of your love.”

Lady Yukimura whipped around to face her brother, fury kindling a flash of lightning in her eyes. “You would have killed him,” she retorted, her anger like a spear of ice in her words.

“If he loved you, he should have risked it,” he said, and his voice was colder now, flint and steel underneath the silk. Her eyes snapped to his, surprise turning to a reluctant understanding. Her brother’s eyes softened in response, becoming kinder. “I would have, for you.”

_And would you have spared him if he risked his life to fight you for me?_ She swallowed the question, the anguish like sharp sliver of glass lodged in her throat. It wasn’t _fair_ , to expect someone to risk his life for what he wanted. But her brother also spoke the truth: _he_ would have done it.

“You cannot expect everyone in the world to be Yukimura Seiichi,” she said at last, all of her earlier anger drained from her voice.

Her brother smiled without mirth. “No. But I expect everyone in the world to fight for what they want. That they will not – it isn’t my concern.”

She closed her eyes, drawing a long, slow breath, and released it. Letting go wasn’t easy – it was never in her nature, or her brother’s, for that matter – but necessary. At any rate, it was too late to turn back now. “The Empress said she would like to speak with you in person,” she started without preamble. “And that a closer tie between our clan and the imperial family could prove mutually beneficial.”

“In those words?”

She gave him a look. “Of course not. She’s of imperial blood through and through. You know she can talk around in circles with the best of them at court.”

“Has she hinted who she has in mind as your match?”

“There aren’t that many options,” she pointed out glibly. “But not Prince Masara, in any case.”

Her brother raised an eyebrow.

“Clearly you have yet to give her sufficient encouragement.” Her voice was a shade colder. She knew her brother for all his talk had never committed himself or his people to the Empress’s cause. In turn, Empress would never offer such high stakes, not without extracting more definitive promise of a return. “Although if she intends to raise the young prince to the throne, someone of imperial blood would be preferable.”

A derisive snort answered her. “Too bad Atobe doesn’t have a daughter or sister handy, then.”

“I’m sure the feeling is mutual,” she replied without missing a beat.

“The Emperor has clearly marked Atobe as the regent for his heir. Or one so young and inexperienced would never have been appointed as the Chief Minister of Ceremonies.”

“He performs his duties without fault, I hear.”

“His current duties, perhaps. But he’s not fit to lead the empire. If the Emperor thinks he can curtail his wife’s ambition for regency using Atobe, he’s become senile.”

Despite herself, Lady Yukimura couldn’t hold back a small smile. The Atobe heir had risen to the position of clan head at an unprecedented age after his father made an abrupt departure from public life to enter the temple. It wasn't long before Atobe also took over as the acting lord for his domain. And less than a year after he became the acting Lord of Hyoutei, the Emperor appointed him to the position of Chief Minister of Ceremonies in a bold move that shocked the whole court. However, as a side effect of his double duties as well as his imperial lineage, Atobe Keigo never served his time in the military, which was required for every noble-born young man in the empire. Atobe’s deficiency in that area had long since been the source of disdain from her openly militant-minded brother.

“I’m sure you and the Empress will have a lot to talk about, then.” Her voice warmed, though it was a far cry from the affection they used to share not a year ago.

“When does she want to see me?”

“This week, if you can. She said at your earliest convenience, and I rather think she meant it.”

“She already has a bridegroom in mind, then.”

Lady Yukimura shrugged. “I assume so, since she summoned me as soon as I returned.”

“I’ll go pay my respects to the Empress in three days. I’ve too much to do in the meantime.”

“And it wouldn’t do to jump at her every whim?” She couldn’t help a trickle of acid in her tone.

Her brother was unfazed. “Of course. I will answer on my own terms, never another’s. You know that.”

“A luxury not many can afford.” Lady Yukimura rose from her seat, suddenly feeling fatigued. “I would like to retire,” she said.

“Of course.” Her brother rose to his feet fluidly, and came to kiss her cheek as was his wont. She turned her head, however, and did not look at him. Just because she accepted his argument, it didn’t mean she’d forgiven him. And deep-seated anger was something her brother understood very well. As she expected, there was no hint of reproach in her brother’s calm expression. “I’ll leave you to your rest,” he said softly, then stepped away. She bowed her head with the exact amount of respect that decorum demanded – and not one whit more.

She did not watch her brother leave.

~*~*~*~

“How did the audience go?”

Tezuka turned his head minutely, in wordless acknowledgment of his friend’s presence. “Fine. We’ve been commended for our success.”

“And the Emperor?” Green eyes turned troubled. “I’d heard unsettling rumors regarding his health. It’s been said ever since the Lady of the Green Pavilion’s untimely passing, His Majesty has been inconsolable.”

“His grief is deep,” he allowed, “but the Emperor is still very much himself.”

Oishi nodded, and the two of them walked side by side in silence for a while. “No other orders regarding the current campaign?”

“I am to stay in the capital. Besides that, none.”

“Well, we’ve all but wrapped up. The actual terms of the peace treaty are the diplomats’ worry, not ours. Speaking of which, do we know who’s going to be sent this time?”

“The Emperor did not say.”

The curt replies would have bothered someone less intimately acquainted with Tezuka. For his part, Oishi merely smiled. “I guess it doesn’t affect our work. Don’t worry about the front. You know we can handle it. You’ve done the hard part already.”

“We did it together.”

Oishi's eyes softened with warmth. “Yes.” There was a lot of pride and affection behind the answer. “I’ll be busy running errands in the city tomorrow, but I will be returning to the camp the day after. Do you have any message for the rest of the team?”

“Keep up the good work,” Tezuka said promptly. “And don’t get careless.”

Oishi chuckled. “Of course. By the way, what’s that?”

Tezuka looked down at his sword, where he’d tied the errant arrow to its sheath. “I found it in the garden.”

“You found it?” Incredulity crept into Oishi’s voice. “This is the imperial palace. Who practices archery here besides the Emperor? And he hasn’t drawn a bow in years. Both of the princes are too young to have personalized arrows, aren’t they?” Oishi’s sharp eyes had noted the personalized design of the arrow – a rare prize awarded for particularly exceptional performances in the imperial archery contest. Even within the vast empire, those granted the honor were few in number.

Tezuka shrugged. “I’ll find out later.”

“Oh, speaking of later. I ran into Lord Tachibana. He requests that you visit him. To celebrate your victory, he said.” A shrewd gleam entered the wide green eyes. “I think he was hoping you’d come stay with him at his house for a few days while you’re in the capital. You know – when you can spare time away from the Seishun mansion?”

“Ah.” Lord Tachibana of Fudomine, like most of the dominion lords, had a private house within the capital city in addition to the mansion provided for the use of each dominion's representatives. Although the current Lord of Seishun, Yamato Yuudai, likewise possessed his own house in the capital, he had a penchant of spending most of his time at the Seishun mansion whenever Tezuka was around. And Yamato’s face was one Tezuka could live without having to see every day. Particularly given what Yamato had been pestering him about lately. Tezuka rather suspected he would end up taking Tachibana up on the offer. “Thank you, Oishi.”

“You’re welcome.”


	2. Book I: Troubled Sea - Chapter 02

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Minor edits may become necessary. This monster is choke full of politics already, and nobody likes infodump. Ayeee. x__x

_Chapter 02_

[5/25/2014 version]

An ocean needs but one dragon resting in its waters. The heaven accepts but one dragon’s ascent to its hallowed domain. An empire’s throne likewise allows but one sovereign.

But the empire’s dragon was old now. His chosen heir was but three years of age – at which age a dragon was nothing but a seahorse. The old dragon could not hope to protect his young until the babe ascended to the throne. Not when every passing day leeched away the dragon’s strength.

At the old dragon’s side sat a phoenix, ripe in years and in full splendor of her strength and beauty. Her flashing eyes missed nothing. Her wings remained sleekly folded, sharp talons curled and her gaze fixed on the ground in the semblance of a dutiful wife. But her wings were strong and itched to spread, to test themselves. Her ambition was yet untouched by weariness of age. And the tool of her ambition – a bright-eyed tiger-cub with small but sharp fangs – was a young but intelligent boy of twelve.

The sea surged uneasily, as if sensing the unease spreading over the land. Rising wind and darkening sky heralded coming of a storm.

The head beneath the crown rested fitfully. It had never known peace since assuming the crown, but now, more than ever, it sensed the waves from a troubled sea.

~*~*~*~

When Tezuka arrived at the Yamato residence, he was unsurprised to note his arrival had been anticipated: there was someone waiting for him at the front gate.

“Welcome, General Tezuka! Shall I escort you in?”

For one moment, Tezuka stared expressionlessly at the man in black robe, who’d addressed the polite inquiry in his direction. “Lord Yamato,” he said in greeting.

Yamato chuckled. “Hey, you recognized me even without my glasses.”

Tezuka hadn’t expected Yamato to be answering his own door. And Yamato’s new appearance, what with bright red-brown hair in messy curls and conspicuous absence of his dark glasses, was equally unexpected. However, the smile that curved those thin lips was the same even without the glasses to hide the gleam of mischief in the grey eyes. “It’s been a while, Lord Yamato. I’m glad to find you well.”

“Yeah. How have you been?” Before Tezuka could answer, the smile turned to a playful grin. "Stupid question. Busy kicking asses and winning us our war, what else? So? What did the old fox want, other than shaking hands with our hero?”

In the whole empire, Yamato Yuudai was the only one who could get away with a comment like that even in the imperial presence. Eccentric, whimsical, and well-nigh incomprehensible to the vast majority of people, Yamato was nevertheless a huge favorite of the Emperor. His frank manners and idiosyncratic yet undeniably penetrating moments of wisdom had endeared him to the old monarch, although the more militant-minded factions at the court openly derided him as a lily-handed philosopher.

Oddly enough, the Empress also favored Yamato. Yamato was one of the very few things that the imperial couple agreed on.

“His Majesty commends Seishun for its efforts in the current campaign, and desires me to remain in the capital.”

“Ho~?” Yamato’s grey eyes regarded him closely. “So where are you planning to stay? Seishun dominion mansion or at Tachibana’s? You know you’re always welcome to stay at my house.” The last was accompanied with a beguiling friendliness Tezuka trusted not one bit.

“I thought it best not to burden you with my prolonged stay.”

Yamato’s mouth twitched. “So you came to beg off staying at my house right off the bat, eh? I figured as much. That’s fine. You can stay wherever you feel comfortable. You and Tachibana go a long way back, after all. I’m sure you two have a lot to catch up on. Come on, then. We can have a toast or two, and you can be done with courtesy-calls for the day.”

Yamato’s house reflected his eccentric tastes. Most of those who visited would only see the mountains of books and scrolls, pieces of art utterly unrelated to each other in terms of style or period, odds and ends of foreign origins, and the likes.

Very few knew about Yamato’s carefully-maintained training room full of weapons. Although Tezuka had bested Yamato at a tender age of fifteen, he knew how much time and effort Yamato had put into his military training. That Yamato never had a chance to put his training to good use was unfortunate, but it did not diminish the respect Tezuka had for him.

“I’d ask to spar with you,” Yamato said as if reading his mind, “but I don’t think there's any point now.”

There had been rumors. Even at the war-torn front, the rumors of Yamato’s worsening injury had been difficult to suppress. Yamato led them to a beautifully decorated room that overlooked the garden, where a bottle of expensive rice liquor and two translucent porcelain cups awaited them. Yamato poured the liquor for them both, which Tezuka received respectfully with both hands, and toasted him. “Hail, conquering hero,” Yamato said, and his words were merely playful, not ironic.

Tezuka inclined his head, then respectfully turned away before he brought the cup to his lips, waiting decorously until Yamato took the first sip before doing the same. Yamato was using his left hand, not right, and it was difficult not to notice it. A small stretch of silence passed while they finished their first cup. Before his host could move, Tezuka reached for the bottle himself and poured the liquor for Yamato, his movement practiced and graceful.

“I guess you all heard it by now,” Yamato said with a wry twist of his mouth. “About my arm.”

“What does your physician say?”

“That he’s done all he can, and it will only grow worse. It’s a matter of time before I lose the use of my right hand entirely.”

Tezuka’s hand paused, holding the cup still. Yamato smiled at him, a hint of regret mingling with resignation. Without a word, Yamato put down his cup and pulled up his right sleeve, exposing the ugly scar that marked the skin from elbow nearly to the wrist. “It _has_ gotten worse. I’ve been feeling it for years, now.”

“I—” Tezuka pulled his eyes away from the scar with effort. “My sincerest condolences,” he said finally, and meant it.

Yamato sighed.

“You know, it’s funny. When I was young, I didn’t care I got hurt. I cared I won.” For Seishun. For the empire. Yamato didn’t have to say it – Tezuka knew it too well. “It wasn’t just that, either. I’d – do you remember when you defeated me? You were just fifteen then. And you reminded me of myself when I was your age.” A laugh, but it was more sad than amused. “In more ways than one.”

“You’ve always given your best for Seishun.” The pause that followed, had it been anyone else, would have been called hesitation. “I’ve always found my inspiration in your example.”

Yamato shook his head, his gaze wandering to Tezuka’s left arm, and coming to a rest on the elbow. “Not always in the right things.”

“You’ve helped me past even those.”

Another sigh. “Seven years before our match, I’d been your age doing much the same thing, with much the same intention. But I went around doing it all wrong, you know. I don’t want you to follow in my footsteps. Not in this. Or you’ll find yourself exactly where I am today.”

Tezuka frowned minutely. “If it’s for Seishun—”

“Tezuka-kun.” Yamato’s voice was firm, but not unkind. “When I told you to become the support pillar of Seishun, that’s not what I meant. Giving our best, yes. But we must also ensure we can continue to do so in our future.” He gestured to his right arm. “I cannot lead, not with this arm. It leaves me unable to support Seishun. Or the Emperor. Which means—” A quick intake of breath, so fleeting that if Tezuka hadn’t been watching, he’d have missed it. “—It is my duty as Seishun’s leader to choose a successor who _can_.”

Yamato’s earnest grey eyes found his own, and Tezuka couldn’t help the stillness that settled over his body. It was an honor, yes. But also a terrifying responsibility. But more than that, it would thrust him from the position of a military general to that of a courtier. As a courtier, he would need to remain here, in the capital, wrestling with the precarious politics of the court. No. This wasn’t where he belonged. He belonged on the battlefield with his team, where things were at least simpler, even if not any easier.

“I do not believe I—”

“You don’t get to have a choice in this, Tezuka-kun.” Wry affection mingled with determination. “I am the Lord of Seishun, and I can only act in our best interest. So I cannot allow you to squirm out of this one. I know,” he said, raising a hand to cut off a half-formed protest from Tezuka, “that this places you in a most difficult position. I know the old fox summoned you to take a good look at my successor, to see if he can use you or not. I also know the Emperor found you worthy. Now, I’m not saying you need to take part in this whole succession issue. Believe me, others of the court are doing enough of that already. But, we _are_ loyal subjects of the Emperor, and we cannot abandon him.”

“Politics have never been my strength,” Tezuka pointed out, but Yamato waved away the concern.

“Neither has it been your weakness. I’ve a hunch you’ll be just fine. Now, I don’t mean you should choose to side with the Emperor against the Empress. You don’t need this kind of weight hanging on you, not when you need to watch our borders. But the empire cannot splinter into two. Not now, not when we’re vulnerable. If nothing else, the current campaign showed us that much. Our empire, should it falter even for a moment, will be challenged. And if our weakness is tested now, we may not withstand the test.”

The trouble surrounding imperial succession had sparked three years ago, when the Emperor’s favorite concubine – the late Lady of Green Pavilion – gave birth to a much-desired son.

The Emperor had no other children save for two daughters from his first Empress, who passed away nineteen years ago. (It was a testament to the empire's decline that both his daughters were long since married to foreign monarchs. In times of strength, the empire's princesses never married outside their own country.) But his current Empress had given him no children in their sixteen years of marriage. The Empress nonetheless was an imperial princess in her own right and had widespread support in the court. A year ago, the Empress had adopted her second cousin, Prince Masara, as her own son and heir. As the young prince was also second-cousin to the Emperor, it would only take adoption from the Emperor to allow him to take precedence over the baby prince. A procedure that the Emperor had pointedly ignored, keeping his own son as the heir apparent.

However, the recent death of the Lady of Green Pavilion left the baby prince under the uncertain protection of his aging father – a tempting vulnerability. In the meantime the Empress, younger and growing in strength, was gathering support within the court.

But all the while, their neighboring kingdom was also gathering power, steadily growing in strength and ambition. The invasion at the empire’s western borders, which Tezuka had recently managed to suppress, was merely the latest one in a long string of such conflicts for the past decade or more. While the imperial court continued to splinter through internal strife, others cast increasingly worried glances at the foreign threats amassing around the empire.

“Give me some time to think about this.” Tezuka didn’t want any part of the succession debate. He knew – as many in the military arm of the government did – that the empire couldn’t afford to take its eyes off their borders. But Yamato was right to point out any internal fracture could prove fatal.

Nonetheless, it was quite another to wonder whether _he_ could do anything about that.

“Alright. But don’t take too long~ The Emperor gets impatient.” A hint of seriousness entered Yamato’s eyes. “And rightly so.”

Tezuka inclined his head mutely in acceptance. Yamato smiled at him, his easy, careless manner returning to him as if the moment of gravity had never been. “Let’s finish this bottle already. I’ve got another one I’m dying to try out. You’re about the only one who can keep up with me, and you visit so rarely, Tezuka-kun.”

~*~*~*~

“Yes?”

The shadow lurking at the door stilled. Sanada cast a cutting glance in that direction, a glint of impatience in his eyes. “You’ve been there for five minutes already. Either come in or go away. I have a lot of work to finish.”

The door opened, and a tall, slender figure in green entered. A large square badge of silver pheasant decorated the front of his visitor’s spring-green robe. “Yo. I see your instincts are as sharp as ever, Sanada.”

“Can I help you?” Sanada persisted.

Shiraishi fiddled with the silver pheasant emblem embroidered in exquisite detail, and did not answer immediately. “So – I caught a glimpse of an imperial edict. It’s not going to be released until next week, but – it’s all finalized, huh? Yukimura’s installation, I mean.”

There was no reason to play dumb. “Yes,” Sanada replied simply.

“Kinda...unprecedented, isn’t it.”

“Are you objecting?” Sanada glanced up at him, dark eyes forbidding, but not offended. “If you do, I suggest you take it elsewhere. I don’t have the authority to gainsay what the council of Rikkai has decided and the Emperor approved.”

“No, no, I’d be the last person to tell you Yukimura can’t do justice to the position. In fact I know he’s been de facto the Lord of Rikkai for a while now. It’s just...” Shiraishi’s eyes flickered to Sanada’s. “I hear the Lady Yukimura visited the Empress yesterday.”

“And?”

“And it’s no secret, what the Empress intends. Is Yukimura really intending to get involved in all that?”

“Shiraishi.” Sanada put down his brush carefully and stood. Shiraishi met his eyes squarely; they were nearly the same height, and Shiraishi wasn’t an easy person to stare down even if that hadn’t been the case. Nonetheless, Sanada gave it his best shot. “Are those your words or Atobe’s?”

“Mine,” Shiraishi replied steadily, making no attempt to evade or look away. “But I can’t help thinking Atobe’s right to be concerned. I won’t deny what the Emperor is trying to do doesn’t have much sense in it. But what the Empress is doing can split the empire into two factions. And now is really not the time for that. You should know that better than anybody else. So should Yukimura, for that matter.”

“Yukimura’s decisions are his own. They will be made in the best interests of Rikkai, and of the empire.” Sanada paused, letting his words sink in. “Was that all?”

Shiraishi sighed. “Alright, I’ll let it go. For now.”

Sanada sat down, picking up his brush again. When Shiraishi did not take the hint to leave, he spoke again, his hand never pausing its motion. “I have work to do. I assume you do as well.”

“Yeah.” Shiraishi moved to exit the room, then paused at the door. “I don’t play political partisanship, you know that. I hope Yukimura won’t, either. Not even for the sake of Rikkai. The interests of the empire should be above even that.”

Sanada did not answer. The only answer he _could_ give was already given. After a moment, Shiraishi excused himself, and left.

Only when he was quite sure Shiraishi was gone did Sanada stop writing. Just as well; he was running low on ink. He set the brush aside and took out his stone grinder and ink stick, and poured a few spoonfuls of water on the grinder. Usually, most of the high-ranking officials had this done by their attendants, but Sanada had always preferred to prepare his own ink. The steady motion of the ink stick grinding on the stone surface calmed him, and allowed him time to think.

Yukimura hadn’t spoken to him about his plans regarding the Empress. That his sister visited the Empress was insignificant: nobody refused a summons from the imperial couple. But Shiraishi wasn’t easily moved to worry. That Shiraishi of all people would echo Atobe’s complaint – that Yukimura was becoming too political to benefit the empire – was enough to make him wonder if he shouldn’t press Yukimura for more details.

Sanada finished with the ink, and picked up his brush again. He would speak to Yukimura when he returned in the evening. Until then, his time would be better spent concentrating on his work. Clearing his mind of all other thoughts and centering his focus was done with ease borne from practice, and Sanada turned to the next page and started writing again.

~*~*~*~

Despite his best intentions, Tezuka did have his share of courtesy calls to make. So it wasn’t until Tezuka’s third day in the imperial capital that he made it to the Tachibana residence. He was well-known by the household, and was quickly ushered to their best drawing room.

Tachibana wasn’t long in joining him. His dark eyes instantly took on the expression of gladness upon seeing Tezuka. “Tezuka. Good to see you back.”

“Tachibana,” Tezuka greeted, rising. They clasped arms briefly but with warmth.

“Please. Sit.” Tachibana did likewise, taking a chair facing him. “You look well. The front must be a better place than the reports make it out to be.”

“No more than expected. I’m glad to see you well. How is your family?”

Tachibana grinned at the succinct description. “You’d say the same whether you were at the ninth heaven or the deepest circle of hell. And you know my family: they’re the same.”

Tezuka knew that by “family” Tachibana was actually including a handful of the closest members of his council. While many dominions often had council members at odds with each other, Fudomine had remained an exception ever since Tachibana became the lord. But then again, Fudomine’s council was significantly smaller, befitting one of the smallest dominions.

Fudomine was a special dominion, created a hundred years ago for an imperial prince who took up the surname of Tachibana. However, as direct descendants of imperial lineage, the Tachibana clan was still accorded the highest honor, and their dominion wielded influence disproportionate to its size.

“An will be glad to hear you’ve returned safely. Are you planning to stay in the city for a while?”

“The Emperor desires it, yes.”

“Ah.” The smile that appeared on Tachibana’s lips was of genuine pleasure. “Then I hope you will accept our hospitality for a few days while you remain in the capital.”

“If it isn’t too much trouble.”

The ease with which Tezuka agreed was a clear indication how highly he regarded their friendship; the same offer from anyone else, even made with equal sincerity, would never have been so easily accepted. “Great. An will be thrilled. Is anyone else from your team staying, too?”

“No, just me. Oishi returned to camp this morning.”

“As expected of you. There’s been glowing reports of your team. Well, there’s been glowing reports of everything, since you’re our hero.”

“Hardly.” Tezuka’s lips tightened. “We had the advantage of terrain this time. But I don’t think it was a serious attempt on their part. It’s too early to relax our guard.”

Tachibana smiled at the ubiquitous reminder to stay on guard – Tezuka’s favorite saying. The question that followed, however, was serious. “If it wasn’t a serious attempt, what was it? They deployed three regiments. Nobody would waste that much manpower and resources on a whim.”

“A test,” Tezuka said shortly. “I said as much in my official report. I believe they were trying to gauge how we would respond.”

“And how did we do?”

“Enough to check further attempts. For now. Beyond that, I cannot say. The empire’s military strength isn’t what it used to be fifty years ago. Or even twenty years ago.”

“So you went all-out to crush them as quickly as possible. To discourage them.” Tachibana’s tone darkened with the grim assessment, which Tezuka didn’t contradict. “Have we really come to that? Show of strength, like the roar of a toothless tiger?”

Tezuka’s frown was thoughtful. “They’ve grown quite a bit in the last few decades. And we haven’t. We still have strength to fight, Tachibana. But if they decide to capitalize on our weakness, it might become another prolonged warfare. Our best bet is to avoid that.”

“Because a prolonged warfare will go worse with us than with them,” Tachibana supplied readily. “And with the imperial family in the state it’s in now...”

“The empire never quite recovered from the Ten Years’ War.” The cadence of Tezuka’s words was slower, considering.

The Ten Years’ War has started as a border dispute with the largest of the empire’s neighbors thirty-four years ago. What should have been a simple and exceedingly commonplace trouble had lasted over a decade, and by the end of it, the empire had emerged short one rival kingdom and two new dominions. Instrumental to their victory was the ascent of a hero, one Echizen Nanjirou, who was now revered as one of the empire’s Shitennou after the legendary Four Heavenly Kings who commanded the armies of the Jade Emperor, the ruler of all heaven.

On the surface it was a resounding victory for the empire. In truth, the loss of life and the lasting damage to the economy had been staggering. And then, seventeen years ago, two of the neighboring kingdoms who shared the empire’s borders became one unified kingdom through marriage of their heirs, becoming the empire’s top rival, initiating border conflicts every so often as if to test its own strength. Or perhaps to ensure that the empire wouldn’t have a chance to recover in peace. There were quiet voices raising concerns regarding the empire’s stagnating economy, its declining influence overseas, and waning military strength.

“What’s done is done.” Tachibana gave a quiet sigh. “That was before our time, at any rate. Now, I’m as concerned as you are about the state of our military, but...” His voice turned darker. “I’m even more concerned about the fact Yukimura is about to rise as the new Lord of Rikkai, and already dallying with the Empress.”

“Yukimura?” Tezuka was genuinely surprised. “Unexpected, at least on his part.”

“Atobe hasn’t been complaining for nothing, you know. How long has it been since Yukimura’s promotion? Yet already, the Department of Defense is full of his people. He was a brilliant commander on the field, but he’s proving his worth even more as a politician. I wouldn’t be surprised if the Empress is courting an alliance with him seriously.”

“Yukimura has been acting as the Lord of Rikkai for some time. If he hasn’t done anything yet, what makes you think he will now? He’s the one who led the empire’s army to victory eight years ago.”

“He may not, as you say. But don’t think the assumption of lordship is a small thing. It carries enormous symbolic significance, not only to Rikkai, but to the empire. And while I can’t dispute his military records are unparalleled, I don’t know if I can say with confidence that he places the welfare of the empire before that of Rikkai’s. He’s been lobbying aggressively to have all his people advance in the ranks. His action casts some doubt on his intentions.”

“So Tezuka-san finally drops by, and you’re already boring him with talks of politics, Onii-sama?”

The voice was light and playful. An, the young Lady Tachibana, approached and curtsied to the two men, who rose to meet her. “It’s been a long time since your last visit, Tezuka-san. I’m so happy to see you back safely. I hope you’ll do us the honor of joining us for lunch?”

“Thank you for your kind offer, Lady Tachibana. I accept with gratitude.”

“Again with Lady Tachibana. Even though I’ve asked you many times to call me by my name.” An’s complaint did not carry much heat, as if she’d made it countless times before and didn’t expect Tezuka to answer differently. To this, Tezuka inclined his head minutely, but did not comment. An smiled, and changed topic easily. “May I conduct you both to the dining room?” She glanced at her brother for confirmation. “I apologize for interrupting you, but I’d been waiting for half an hour in vain, and the food must be turning cold by now.”

Tachibana nodded, fixing Tezuka with an apologetic look. “We’ll talk more after lunch. You must be hungry. I should have remembered.”

An flashed a brilliant, pleased smile at both of them, and turned to lead the way. The two of them followed, somber mood forgotten for the time being.


	3. Book I: Troubled Sea - Chapter 03

_Chapter 03_

[7/21/2014 Version]

“Oishi!”

Oishi had just enough time to dismount before a blur of red and black nearly bowled him over, skidding to a stop just before they collided. “You’re back! I was so bored without you here, and it’s already been two weeks! Did you remember to bring me snacks? And souvenirs?”

“Eiji.” Oishi chuckled, and the two of the clasped arms with easy familiarity. “Shouldn’t you be out of that? What’s the point of being a covert op if you’re wearing your secret uniform in broad daylight?”

“Eh, the war’s over. We won and everything. How’d it go? Did you get to see the Emperor? Where’s Tezuka?”

“Well, Tezuka got to see the Emperor. And it went well, since he received commendation. But the Emperor ordered him to stay in the capital, so Tezuka won’t be joining us. From what I heard, we should be able to return home to Seishun within a month or so. Maybe even sooner, if the negotiations go well.”

“Oh.” Kikumaru took a moment to digest that. “That’s good, then! I’ve been missing home cooking like crazy. Which reminds me. I’m starving. Did you bring me snacks? You promised. You remembered, right?”

Oishi shook his head ruefully, but his amusement was plain to see. “So it was just the snacks you missed, and not me.”

“Of course I missed you! I told you, I was so bored!”

“So you missed me for the entertainment. That’s not very kind of you, Eiji.”

“You KNOW what I mean! Now where’re my snacks?”

“Nine out of ten,” said a dry voice, “your snacks will be found on the first of the ten wagons headed this way with armed escorts.” Square-shaped lenses glinted inside thick black frame. “The probability Oishi galloped ahead once within sighting distance from the camp, 96-percent. You’re about the only one who’d be in a hurry to return to camp, you realize.”

“Inui.” The clasp of arms that followed was shorter and less intimate than the one Oishi shared with Kikumaru, but no less sincere in affection. “Everything’s been okay while I was gone, I hope?”

“Nothing out of ordinary. I do have a full report for you. I take it Tezuka has been asked to stay in the capital.”

“Got it in one,” Oishi replied with a smile. “But you might want to try the Fudomine mansion if you plan to forward him anything.”

“I predicted as much. Have you met up with Lord Yamato?”

“Briefly, only to pay him my respects before returning. Why?”

Inui’s expression was difficult to read with the glasses concealing his eyes, but Oishi gleaned a hint of smug satisfaction on his face. “Did Lord Yamato happen to mention why he chose to be in the capital precisely around the time Tezuka would return?”

“He did hint at the—” Oishi frowned, then slapped his forehead. “Inui. You didn’t actually lay bets on this whole thing, did you?”

“GAH! Inui was right then? Damn it, that’s twenty pieces of silver I just lost!” Kikumaru exclaimed in disgust.

Inui’s slow smile was all Oishi needed for confirmation. He sent a reproachful look in Kikumaru’s direction, wordlessly remonstrating they shouldn’t make light of the situation. Just then, the rest of their team came to join them, and they retired to the large tent reserved for strategic meetings.

“Since I’m sure everyone wants to know, and I don’t want to repeat the same thing five times,” Oishi began. “I do have some things for you from back home, and we can get those off the wagons after this. As for Tezuka, he received commendation from the Emperor on our behalf, and will be staying in the capital for a while. We’re going to receive the official proclamation soon. More importantly, if everything goes well with the treaty negotiations, we will be allowed to return to Seishun within a month. Two at most.” The news was greeted with wholehearted enthusiasm. They’d been away from home for four months already. Oishi let the rest of his team exchange joyous comments before resuming. “Now, news from Seishun. The court of Seishun has received word from Lord Yamato. Lord Yamato has made it clear he plans to retire from public life within the year, and is adamant that Tezuka should be the one to succeed him as the Lord of Seishun. Seishun’s council has already ratified Lord Yamato’s nomination. Right now, they’re waiting for Tezuka to accept, and for the imperial approval. That might take a few months, possibly longer, but – there shouldn’t be any problems, they said.”

This piece of news was greeted with mixed reaction. On one hand, all of them were glad, as Tezuka had been their commander for the last three years, and they all trusted and respected him. Tezuka would no doubt make a good ruler for Seishun. But they also harbored a great deal of affection and esteem for their current lord, and his impending retirement afforded them no pleasure.

All of them, however, had anticipated this development for a while. When Yamato passed down the command of Seishun’s armed forces over to Tezuka, everyone had known this would eventually happen. No lord, however popular, ever successfully retained his rule over a dominion without full command over its armed forces. Yamato had known that, and by choosing Tezuka as his proxy on the battlefield, in a way, he’d chosen his heir with the same breath.

“Lastly, Tezuka sends his regards. He reminds all of us to keep working hard, and to not be careless.”

A smattering of laughter answered the message, which Oishi delivered with admirable gravity – and tolerable imitation of Tezuka’s inflection.

After a general inquiry for news of families, which Oishi dutifully delivered, most of their team including their two junior lieutenants, Momoshiro and Kaidoh, left to resume their posts. Kawamura, Inui, and Kikumaru remained behind to talk about more confidential matters.

“Oishi, is it true that the Emperor is very ill?” Kawamura asked once the four of them were by themselves. His mild manner and gentle expression belied the boisterous and fearless warrior he became on the battlefield. But his concern was shared by the other two, who reflexively looked around to ensure they weren’t being overheard.

“Not gravely,” Oishi replied. “But his health remains poor, and the Lady of Green Pavilion’s untimely death only made it worse, I heard.”

“No change of mind from the Emperor, I take it,” Inui said pensively. “About keeping her young son as the heir apparent, I mean.”

“None, as far as anyone can fathom,” Oishi confirmed.

“What’s the word on the Empress’s little prince? He’s what, twelve? So is he a fancy wound-up doll or does he actually get what’s going on?” Kikumaru’s irreverent tone would have scandalized those at court, but his friends, accustomed to his manner of speaking, were unfazed.

“I’ve heard,” Oishi lowered his voice automatically, out of sheer habit, “that Prince Masara is rather intelligent and precocious. The general word is, his temperament is fair, his manners are pleasing and noble, and his carriage befits that of an imperial prince. The Empress likes to embellish quite a bit, praising him as a heaven-sent prodigy, but it sounds like he’s in a fair way for all that. I don’t know if he necessarily understands everything that’s going on, but then again, he _is_ only twelve.”

“And the baby prince?” Kawamura this time, voice hushed.

Oishi gave a half-shrug. “Just what you’d expect from a typical baby of three, I heard. He walks and talks, but nothing to distinguish him just yet. The Emperor dotes on him, obviously.”

“It’s no surprise. The baby prince is the Emperor’s first and only son, begotten so late that his very birth is miraculous in itself.” Inui’s voice was mild, nothing like his usual dry and matter-of-fact intonation. “No one could fault a father for favoring his own son. But the Emperor is not just any father.”

“And the Empress is not just any woman scorned,” Kikumaru quipped, and Oishi couldn’t help a laugh.

“The fury of a woman scorned will frost a June field.” It was an old proverb Inui delivered in a perfect drawl. “Let’s hope this particular frost isn’t going to freeze the whole empire.”

“If it were just jealousy...” Oishi shook his head. “Never mind. Let’s just stop here.”

“You were thinking that the Empress is driven less by jealousy and more by ambition.” Inui did not quote him probability on this one. He didn’t need to. “I agree with you. And that’s the most dangerous combination one can ask for.”

Oishi nodded reluctantly. “She’s strong, but... It’s precisely because of that I worry. Still, I think Atobe’s doing a good job balancing everything so far. The way I hear it, Atobe’s probably going end up becoming the regent, no matter which one’s chosen as the crown prince.”

“You’d trust him to be a good one?” Kikumaru’s distrust echoed a long-seated sentiment. Atobe had extremely flamboyant style and arrogant attitude that either impressed or annoyed all those who met him. Sometimes both at the same time. Combined with his youth and relative inexperience, even as most of the imperial court grudgingly acknowledged his political acumen, Atobe’s personality led some to question his qualification as both the acting Lord of Hyoutei and the Chief Minister of Ceremonies.

“I don’t think he’s all that bad,” Kawamura suggested kindly. “He’s done a lot to reorganize and update the imperial academy and other facilities.”

Oishi’s answer was more judicious. “I don’t know if I’d trust Atobe to be _fair_. But I’d trust him to be effective.”

“If Atobe manages to take the office. There are other candidates for regency, and I daresay there are some who are even more ambitious than he is.”

Inui’s grim prediction was met with a long stretch of silence. They all knew what he was talking about: Rikkai. Specifically, a blazing star in Rikkai’s ranks who was slated to become their new lord.

Oishi cleared his throat. “We’ll have to deal with all of that later. For now, though – we’ve got other work to do, yes?”

“We wouldn’t want Tezuka to hear we’ve been slacking off.” Kawamura gave an uneasy chuckle. “Right. Let’s go back. Oishi said we’ve got some wagons to unload.”

Kikumaru brightened at the prospect of imminent snacks. Their cheerful mood restored, the four of them headed outside to the supply wagons coming into the camp.

~*~*~*~

Through the imposing gates of the imperial capital city galloped a lone rider on horseback. Even as he approached the busier streets full of pedestrians, he barely slowed down, skillfully leading his horse so as to avoid trampling on anyone. In less than fifteen minutes, he was trotting through the open gates of the mansion that once belonged to the late Crown Prince Shotoku.

A figure stood on the raised front porch, the very picture of serenity save for the way he leaned forward ever so slightly, betraying the slightest hint of impatience. "Yuuta," he greeted, with warmth that would have startled most people who knew him. “Welcome back.”

The rider glanced up, and grinned. “Hey, Aniki. I’m back.”

“I have refreshments and a bath prepared.” His brother’s words were accompanied by leisurely steps down the stone steps.

“I could use a cool drink. I’ll take the bath after.”

Fuji didn’t move to embrace his younger brother, as he might have once done when they were both children, but his eyes bespoke of joy and warmth more clearly than any verbal or physical demonstration could have. “Come, then. I’ve been waiting since morning.”

Once the two of them were situated in one of the private sitting rooms in the house, Fuji dismissed all attendants, who left without a fuss, accustomed as they were to the eccentricities of the Fuji siblings. Fuji then bade his younger brother to sit, pouring a cool drink for him. Yuuta accepted both the drink and the napkin made of fine linen gratefully, mopping his face. The day wasn’t warm, but he’d been riding hard since sunrise.

“So,” Fuji said after Yuuta drained the cup, “I take it your search didn’t have much success.”

Yuuta shook his head, but didn’t look particularly disappointed. “I ran into father, though. And mother at Seishun.”

Fuji hummed softly. “Are they both well?”

“As well as can be, yeah. Mother sends love. Father says not to worry about him. Or about Aneki.”

“Has he heard from her?”

The uncharacteristic eagerness startled Yuuta enough that he glanced at his brother’s face, wide-eyed, before answering. “Not – precisely. He’s received a message from an unknown source, and he’s convinced it proves she’s alive and well. And...” His brows creased to a frown. “...to stop searching.”

“Mother never seemed convinced she would be found,” Fuji murmured. “I think she didn’t want to discourage you, and so held her peace, but I don’t think mother expected you to succeed.”

“But Yumiko is our sister. Shouldn’t we at least search for her?”

“Yuuta.” The light admonition in Fuji’s voice was both gentle and firm, and Yuuta subsided reluctantly. “Even if you find her, she can’t return thateasily. Remember –Yumiko eloped to avoid a marriage arranged for her by none other than the Empress. The Empress’s will isn’t to be disregarded lightly.”

“Yeah, and our whole family spent years in exile. So? The Empress is mother’s younger sister. She eventually called us back.”

Fuji’s expression was exceptionally neutral, and struck by it, Yuuta fell silent. “Yuuta. Don’t you remember? When our mother eloped with father, it created a huge scandal. People talk even now. About how our mother might have been Empress if she hadn’t done that. And for her to marry our father, who was then only an heir to the lord of a moderate province in Seishun... Grandfather never forgave mother. It was our aunt who recalled us to the capital after grandfather passed away.”

“But...” Yuuta sighed, frustrated. “That was a long time ago. I thought aunt forgave us, and that was that.”

His brother shook his head once, his hair swishing softly before settling down. “She forgave once. And I know she was very fond of Yumiko – before she eloped. I don’t know if the Empress forgave twice. She is a very proud person.”

Proud was probably a mild term to describe their aunt Princess Ahe, the current Empress. Where their mother Princess Yoshiko was artistic, soft-spoken and gentle, Princess Ahe was intellectual, cool and stern. Yuuta had often heard that their mother was considered one of the foremost beauties in the Empire in her youth, whereas Princess Ahe, although counted handsome, was never demure and feminine enough to attract many suitors. Yet the two diametrically different sisters were once very close, Princess Yoshiko having all but raised her much younger sister after the death of their mother.

Yuuta personally couldn’t imagine holding such a determined grudge against a family member for so long. But if their grandfather never forgave their mother, and their aunt _had_ made them spend ten years in exile... Yuuta didn’t consider the ten years he’d spent at Rokkaku and Seishun a hardship, only that they had been kept from their mother. Perhaps his brother was right – and he tended to be right about people. Maybe the Empress _was_ still angry.

After a long moment of silence, Fuji spoke again, but his voice was full of tenderness, which alarmed Yuuta even more. It wasn’t often that Fuji allowed this much emotion to color his voice. “I’m glad you’ve come back in time.”

“In time for what?” Yuuta asked, already dreading the answer without knowing why.

“My wedding.”

A short silence followed. “Your _what?_ ”

“The Empress,” Fuji said in ruthlessly controlled voice, “desires me to marry a young lady of her choice. She informs me the match will prove advantageous in every way, and that she will personally oversee the process.” Fuji’s tone made it clear that the said advantages weren’t intended for him.

Yuuta, dumbstruck, stared at his brother in shock. “Mother mentioned nothing about this to me,” he finally managed, to which his brother replied only with a wan smile.

“I doubt mother knows. I’ve just been informed two weeks ago myself.”

“And does anyone else know? And mother is away in Seishun...” Yuuta demanded, anger rising like a storm. “Oh hell, she was waiting for the moment our mother left the capital. Has she even consulted anyone in this? Because I know she sure as hell didn’t ask _you_.”

“No one, I think. She’s been very guarded about this particular project of hers. But her tone made it very clear she already had a bridal candidate in mind.”

“Any guesses on who?” A fresh alarm drained the rising color from Yuuta’s face. “She’s not...she can’t be considering An?”

The casual mention of Lord Tachibana’s beloved sister made Fuji blink, then laugh. “No, I don’t think she has the young Lady Tachibana in mind. Though, if you were to make your courtship known, I hardly think she’d oppose you.”

“What courtship? I just meant An would never agree to marry you. You’d drive each other crazy and then Tachibana-san would have to kill you.” Despite the blush turning his entire face ruddy, Yuuta breathed easier, if not entirely reassured. “Then who? Hyoutei’s Atobe doesn’t have a sister. Or any cousins sufficiently high in rank to satisfy aunt. Shitenhouji?”

“Hmm, maybe. Shitenhouji’s Shiraishi has a younger sister, I believe. So does Chitose.”

Yuuta snorted. “Not Chitose, even I can tell that much. Who else has a daughter or sister handy? Can’t be one of the provincial dominions, they’re not important enough. If she’s selling you off, she must be hunting for the highest bidder.”

“Thanks, Yuuta,” Fuji said dryly, but his eyes sparkled with humor. “It’s why I don’t dismiss Fudomine out of hand, but...I’ve a better guess.”

“That being?” Yuuta huffed impatiently. “Come on, Aniki. Just spill.”

“Rikkai’s Yukimura has been quite aggressive about advancing his people in the imperial court. One can safely consider the Department of Defense his.”

Yuuta considered this, jaws tight. “So – I remember Yukimura has a sister, yeah? And he’s been the acting lord for Rikkai for the last few years.”

“Not just the acting lord anymore. Yukimura’s official installation as the Lord of Rikkai has been finalized. The imperial edict will be issued next week.” Yuuta raised an eyebrow at what was likely a confidential piece of information even in the imperial court, already guessing how his brother knew all this. “He will also receive a promotion, I heard. It’ll put him on par with Atobe in terms of rank and influence.”

“Atobe that bastard bitched and moaned to you constantly, huh?” Yuuta’s grin was rather smug. Fuji shook his head ruefully; Atobe Keigo tended to inspire either intense admiration or profound dislike, and Yuuta had doggedly stuck to the latter since they were children, despite the fact his older brother and Atobe were close friends. “Shit, I get it. If aunt can’t get Atobe committed on her side, she’ll go after the next best thing. Not quite as exalted as Atobe in terms of bloodline, but Yukimura’s a war hero, so it evens out.”

“More or less. Yukimura is the most decorated general in the last ten years. His records would be tough to match.”

“There’s another war hero who’s returned recently.”

“Oh?”

Yuuta’s withering look said he was unconvinced by his brother’s apparent insouciance. “Tezuka-san, remember him? From Seishun, where we grew up?”

“Ah, yes. The new golden hero.”

“Hell, I’ve been on the road for the past two months and I still heard the news of his resounding victory. And that’s three victorious campaigns already in just the last two years. At this rate he’s going to match Yukimura title for title. Maybe even surpass him.”

“Perhaps. Unfortunately, he isn’t the Lord of Seishun. And even if he were, he has no sisters. Or daughters, for that matter.” There was something edged lurking under his brother’s calm tone, like sharpened blade kept from the skin only by a thin layer of silk. “Besides, isn’t the illustrious general famous for being apolitical? The Empress wouldn’t be interested.”

Although Yuuta had said they grew up in Seishun, strictly speaking that wasn’t accurate. They’d spent their earliest childhood in Seishun, but they’d also spent the first five years of their exile in Rokkaku, and considered Rokkaku their second childhood home. For the latter five years of their exile, Yuuta had spent almost the whole time away, accompanying their father, but his brother had stayed at Seishun’s court. And, unless Yuuta had been vastly mistaken, his brother had once been quite close to the younger members of Seishun’s court, including the young General Tezuka.

But that had been one subject his brother refused to talk about ever since they returned to the imperial capital. Yuuta sighed, and changed the subject. “And you?”

“What about me?” Fuji answered with artlessness that would have fooled anyone else, but Yuuta hadn’t been his brother for the last two decades for nothing.

“Are you okay with this whole...marriage thing?”

Yuuta’s earnest eyes bore into his, and Fuji shrugged with apparent nonchalance. “I’m sure Lady Yukimura is a perfectly lovely person. Unless I take the cloth and retire to the temple, I would have to marry sometime. What does it matter if it’s to Lady Yukimura, or anyone else?”

“Aniki, it’s a wedding, not a trip to the marketplace. This is your _life_ we’re talking about. I could never marry someone I don’t even like. Or know.” Yuuta shook his head. “I don’t believe you can, either.”

The smile Fuji wore on his face was a perfect simulacrum of a real one. “That, little brother, is where you and I differ. I simply don’t care.”

Yuuta frowned, and was tempted to argue the point, but thought better of it. Just like their seemingly-soft yet inflexible mother, fiery sister, and honest father, each of his family members carried a streak of unmatched stubbornness and determination. If his brother was set on insisting he didn’t mind, then he would assert the same point until his death. Besides, Yuuta was old enough to recognize when he needed to call for backup.

“Uh-huh. Sure. So what else’s been going on, aside from your upcoming nuptials?” Which weren’t going to proceed if he had anything to say about it, but Yuuta held his tongue. As his brother jumped from topic to topic, each with even less gravity and importance than the last, Yuuta listened, not to the words but the voice, divining the best he could of the emotions subtly inflecting the smooth tone. It was likely a fruitless endeavor: nobody could shield his emotions the way his brother could.

Yet the hope was an eternal spring. And blood was thicker than water. He could never stop hoping or trying where his brother was concerned. After all, what was family for?

~*~*~*~

A week had passed since Tezuka’s arrival in the capital city. At the Fudomine dominion’s mansion, the quiet of the afternoon lull was broken by sudden sounds of clashing swords. Alarmed, the guards sprinted towards the back garden, where sharp clangs of metal on metal resounded.

Startled, two of Lord Tachibana’s chief retainers and personal protégés, who had been practicing with their swords in the main courtyard, also joined the guards. When they arrived, they were greeted by the sight of Tezuka facing off against an unknown opponent. The opponent was a good head shorter than Tezuka, his face hidden under wide brim of a conical straw hat, but was – and here all of those present watched in disbelief – actually pressing Tezuka warmly enough to force him on the defensive.

The two retainers, Kamio Akira and Ibu Shinji of Fudomine, lost no time staring, jumping into the fray like experienced warriors. The short figure in black traveling clothes didn’t bother to spare them a glance even as he whirled just enough to block their attacks, his attention firmly fixed on Tezuka.

The displeasure at their interruption was evident on Tezuka’s countenance, but he said nothing, likewise ignoring the two new combatants in favor of his opponent. Piqued by the stranger’s careless dismissal, however, both Kamio and Ibu failed to notice Tezuka’s reaction. The two of them moved in unison with deadly swiftness, to catch their opponent between the pair of their perfectly coordinated swords.

The stranger blocked one then the other sword with lightning-fast counter-strikes, moving past their net with a heedless ease. His focus had never once wavered from Tezuka, not even to express annoyance at the intervention.

“That’s enough, Kamio, Shinji.” The firm and commanding voice arrested their next attack, and the two looked up at their lord in shock. Tachibana stood on the porch with a sheathed sword held at his side. His sister stood a step behind, watching the scene with interest. With a flick of his hand Tachibana sent the guards back to their usual posts, and nodded to his two protégés. “Let Tezuka handle this,” he added, and reluctantly, Kamio and Ibu retired to Tachibana’s side.

“Tachibana-san, this is...?” Kamio inquired with a frown, but was waved into silence. The stranger’s sword arched in the air, landing a few feet away from the two duelists. Then to the onlooker’s utter shock, another sword flew up in the air. It was then that they noticed the steel sheath held in the stranger’s right hand, which had just successfully disarmed Tezuka. For his part, Tezuka’s right hand struck even as his left relinquished his weapon, and his opponent let out a hiss of pain, dropping the sheath.

Calmly, as if at the end of a sparring session, Tezuka raised his sheath toward his opponent’s throat, and announced, “You’ve gotten better.”

The stranger lifted his head, revealing a mischievous smirk stretched on a startlingly young face. “Thanks, captain. I’ve been practicing with my old man.”

“I take it you’ve finished your training?”

“Hell no. The old man said I’ve got a long way to go, but I can figure out the rest by myself or something. I think he just got bored.”

Tachibana cleared his throat. “Good to see you, Echizen. Though, I wish you wouldn’t alarm my guards like this every time you visit.”

Kamio and Ibu were staring at him with open dislike. “Echizen?” Kamio echoed. “As in the Samurai? This kid?”

Echizen rolled his eyes. “No, that’s my old man. Twenty years ago. What are you, stupid?”

“The Samurai’s only son and heir,” Tachibana explained diplomatically, but the polite cough sounded suspiciously like a laugh. “Echizen Ryoma.”

“That’s a lot of attitude for a little brat.” Clearly, Kamio was a type to hold grudges. “It’s common courtesy to introduce yourself to your opponents. Only cowards and assassins would sneak into a dominion’s mansion unannounced to attack an honored guest, who is your commander besides—”

“Captain and the Fudomine prince already know me.” Echizen wasn’t even looking at them while he talked, busy retrieving his sword and its sheath.

“We’ve never met. When you meet adversaries on the field, you should—”

“What adversaries?” Echizen straightened, replacing his sword on his belt. Tezuka, who had retrieved his own sword, merely sheathed it. “Oh, and next time, don’t get in the way. It’s a nuisance.”

“A nuisan—”

“Echizen.” The disapproval in Tezuka’s firm voice was met with a rebellious look, which abated after a few heartbeats.

Echizen sighed. “Sorry.” He sounded far from it.

“I’ll show you sorry, you little—!” Ibu, even as he cast a dark look in Echizen’s direction, stepped closer to grab Kamio by the elbow. Tachibana also shot both of them a warning look, while An turned her face away to hide a smile. Thusly restrained, Kamio seethed and glowered, but held his peace.

Echizen seemed oblivious to the lot of them, however, and had his attention fixed only on Tezuka. “Got a minute, captain? I’ve got a letter for you from home.”


	4. Book I: Troubled Sea - Chapter 04

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yesterday (10/28) was Neumegami’s birthday. Without her, this story would have been impossible. I owe so much of this story to her, not the least of which for the beautiful cover art. Thank you so much, Neu, and happy belated birthday!

_Chapter 04_

[10/29/2014 version]

Shiraishi had ample reasons to appreciate his charmingly gregarious younger sister Yukari, who had a knack for keeping any guest entertained no matter how difficult or fastidious. Appreciated, that was, when the said guest wasn’t one of his close friends. All his confidants within the council of Shitenhouji were troublesome for one reason or another, but this particular guest was none other than Chitose Senri accompanied by his sister Miyuki.

Which was markedly unfair, Shiraishi decided. The day Chitose dropped by just had to be a day he returned late from his courtly duties? With the Chitose siblings at hand, there was simply no telling what mischief his sister might get up to in his absence.

“...so my idiot brother says to them, ‘But why didn’t you just tell him?’ And Koharu just gives him an innocent look and says, ‘I thought the Minister of the Left of all people would be capable of telling left from right.’ You should have seen my brother’s face, he just about—”

“Just about cut off your allowances for the next six months, Yukarin. Why don’t you stop right there?” He was out of breath, but his voice was tolerably firm and authoritative. His sister smirked at him, unfazed.

“Your drawstring’s undone, brother,” Yukari pointed out airily.

“What? No, it’s not.” He looked down reflexively anyway, to find his drawstring was indeed undone – for his coin purse at this side. “Yukari,” he growled, but his sister merely laughed at him.

“What? You don’t want to be caught with your purse string undone before the ladies, do you?”

“What ladies?” Shiraishi grumbled. “Because I certainly don’t see a lady present.”

“Hey!” protested Miyuki, the young Lady Chitose, but her reproach was all playfulness.

“Really, brother. Your manners are atrocious. Aren’t you going to say hello to Senri-nii-san and Miyuki?”

The deliberately informal address didn’t escape his attention, but pointing out Yukari’s lapse in manners would no doubt result in an extensive lecture about his own. Shiraishi swallowed his reply and settled for a dignified glare. “Good to see you both. Not sure if I can say the same thing about you, sister dearest. Are you going to welcome me home?”

“Welcome home, Onii-sama!” Yukari trilled with such saccharine outburst of adoration and enthusiasm, Shiraishi shuddered, unable to muster a proper glare in response.

“Okay. Please never do that again. That was just plain disturbing,” Miyuki said, sounding thoroughly spooked. Shiraishi could have kissed her.

It was then Chitose finally came to the rescue. “In fact, Miyuki, why don’t you and Yukari go catch up in the garden? I need to borrow Shiraishi for a moment, if Yukari doesn’t mind.”

“Eh, you may even keep him. Provided you pay me first.”

“Yukari!”

“Talk to me on my next payday, and we’ll discuss terms. I could use someone to sweep my yards and brush my horses,” replied Chitose in an indolent drawl.

“ _Hey_.”

Miyuki giggled like a young girl and tugged on Yukari’s sleeve. “Come on, Yukari. Let’s go talk in the garden. You can pick on your brother later.”

~*~*~*~

After the two young ladies left, Shiraishi gave his friend an annoyed look, but came to clasp his hand with familiar warmth. “What brings you here? You don’t show your face even during the council meetings. Speaking of which – Lord Watanabe Osamu will have your head if you don’t show up to this month’s meeting. Exact words. You’ve been warned.”

“Eh, it’s more fun to sit at home and play chess. And I mean _home_ home, not here. Life in the city isn’t for me.”

Shiraishi shook his head. “If you weren’t so damned lazy, the Emperor would have made you a third-tier official already.” He knew Chitose wouldn’t take offense at what he said. Chitose’s complacence was legendary. There was a reason Chitose’s career in the Department of Defense was so short-lived despite Chitose having swept the martial arts competition for a few years in a row. Rumor was that he quit after three months.

In actuality, it was closer to one month.

“He tried. Didn’t stick.” Chitose sounded unconcerned. For all anyone could tell, despite the low and often inconsistent pay he seemed much happier as an occasional chess instructor than as a court official. “Anyway, Tachibana was the one who sent me word. Something about the Empress stepping up the marriage game at last? Immediately after, I got a very politely circumspect letter from the Empress asking about Miyuki’s health, and whether it prevents her from attending court more often.”

Shiraishi stared at Chitose in surprise. “Miyuki? She inquired after Miyuki?”

“Among others. An, for one, from what I heard.”

The mention of Lady Tachibana An in conjunction to Chitose Miyuki was jarring. It then occurred to Shiraishi that possibly he’d thought of Miyuki as a child for too long, just like Chitose. Miyuki had turned sixteen this year, and while considered a bit young for marriage, sixteen-year-old brides weren’t unheard of, especially amongst the uppermost echelon of the imperial court. “I thought the Empress was trying to – oh. Is she looking to marry of both of her nephews at once?” Shiraishi’s thoughts turned to the Fuji family, belatedly remembering there was a younger son, too. To be fair, Fuji Yuuta traveled so often with his father – a self-proclaimed cartographer – that the capital city saw him less than a month in a year altogether.

“And possibly, Prince Masara himself.”

“He’s only twelve.”

Chitose looked rueful. “Doesn’t matter. She wants a strong alliance that will cement his position. Absent a Lady Atobe, a Lady Tachibana would be the next best bet, I guess. At any rate, Miyuki and I as good as received a summons to come see her.”

“Shit. So she’s going all-out on this. I figured, she might be thinking about Lady Yukimura and Fuji, maybe. But not all three.”

Chitose shrugged. “I’m surprised she didn’t summon you first.”

Shiraishi wasn’t. Although Shiraishi clan had held the lordship over Shitenhouji for three generations already, Chitose clan had claim to a nobler bloodline, having married into imperial family several times in the last hundred years or so. If their current heir had been just a little bit more ambitious, it might have been Chitose clan that the Emperor and Empress might have tried to cultivate rather than the Atobe clan. The Empress, herself a princess of imperial blood, placed a great deal of importance to bloodline. It was partly the reason she was so attached to the Fuji family; despite their father’s relatively humble station, the Fuji siblings were still a part of the imperial lineage through Princess Yoshiko.

The same lineage also gave the Empress perfect excuse to marry off Princess Yoshiko’s children as if they were her own. Try to, anyway. That hadn’t gone down so well with the eldest of the Fuji siblings.

“What are you going to do?” Shiraishi asked gently. Chitose was exceedingly fond of his sister. Allowing his sister to enter a loveless political match would be the last thing he did. But the Empress wasn’t exactly the easiest one to oppose.

“Wait. Watch.” Chitose’s lips tightened briefly. “Miyuki’s very important to me, as you know. She won’t ever marry anyone against her will if I have anything to say about it.”

Which was touching, but... “Miyuki is already sixteen years old. Have you even thought about it? Her marriage, I mean.”

Chitose gave a wince at the mention of his sister’s age. “Don’t remind me. I rue the day I woke up and found Miyuki with all those...womanly developments. She used to be such a cute little kid.” He let out a heavy sigh. “Why did she have to grow up? I would have liked it better if she stayed a kid forever.”

Shiraishi rolled his eyes, chuckling. “Yeah, and left alone with you, she’d die an old maid. Maybe the Empress is doing her a favor.” A grimace was Chitose’s only answer. “Yukari’s only eighteen, but she’s been learning her way around the court since she debuted at fifteen. She hasn’t mentioned anyone yet, but... Well, if she did, I wouldn’t stop her.”

“You think I should let Miyuki attend court more often?” Chitose sounded like he was gearing up for another one of his overprotective outburst. Usually so calm, Chitose didn’t lose his composure easily, but when he did it was invariably over his sister. “Where any stupid bug can prey on my innocent baby sister? Heavens forfend.”

Silently shaking his head, Shiraishi redoubled his thought that Miyuki was going to die an old maid if Chitose had his way, but said nothing aloud. As to innocence, it was true Miyuki still retained much of her childlike demeanor, at least outwardly. But Miyuki was also spunky, inquisitive _and_ had Shiraishi Yukari as her best friend. If Chitose really believed Miyuki didn’t already know about the birds and the bees inside out, his poor friend was deluded.

“Yukari has also forbidden me to interfere with her courtships if any offers should come. She wants to handle them herself.” Which was why Shiraishi, while maintaining a discreet watchful eye over the whole affair, always redirected such offers directly to his sister. As far as he knew, there had been nothing more serious than a few exchanges of letters and poems, and small gifts to date. “But – you do realize it’s something you have to accept, right? I’m not saying the Empress should force a marriage on Miyuki. But it’s got to happen sometime. Hell, it’s going to happen with _you_ sooner than later, too. If any woman will take you.”

Chitose laughed outright at that. “Nah, I’m no fancy Shitenhouji lordling. Not that I have anything against marriage, I just don’t fit the bill very well.”

Despite the relaxed manner, for Chitose to come running to him, the summons from the Empress must had disturbed him more than he let on. Shiraishi clapped him lightly on the shoulder. “Hey. It’ll be all right. It’s not like the Empress has made up her mind about anything definite.”

“Hasn’t she?” The sudden glint of acid judgment would have shocked anyone who didn’t know Chitose well. His military genius didn’t stop at the combative side of it. When he could be bothered, Chitose was a master strategist with piercing insight, able to give frighteningly accurate predictions in any given situation. “Fuji family has two sons. And the Empress has a knack of getting her way. If not through an official imperial edict, she will find another way.” He sighed, looking a bit tired, and closed his eyes. “I know what you’re saying, Shiraishi. And I am not opposed to the idea of Miyuki in courtship _or_ marriage. But not at someone else’s say-so. Not for another’s gain.”

“I’m with you on that.”

Chitose smiled. “I know. But you should be more aware. I bet Yukimura’s installation as the Lord of Rikkai is a matter of time. But the Yukimura clan doesn’t have any claim to imperial lineage, which means the Empress probably has Fuji in mind for the lady, not Prince Masara. That still leaves us with two alternatives.”

“So I see,” Shiraishi acknowledged, disquieted. The Empress was not a woman who wasted her resources. “Any idea about the remaining two?”

“I can tell you this much: the younger Fuji is spoken for. They have been very careful, but I have what you might call inside knowledge.” Chitose kept his eyes trained on Shiraishi, and Shiraishi, reading the rare moment of seriousness in his friend’s eyes, returned the gaze in kind. “An-chan has been waiting forever,” Chitose said softly, and Shiraishi’s mouth opened. Ah, so that was why the young Lady Tachibana had been rejecting suits for her hand. Charming and beautiful, and of imperial lineage to boot, Tachibana An was very popular at court, and her choice to remain unattached for so long had not gone unnoticed. Chitose and Lord Tachibana were close friends, however, which explained how Chitose knew the secret. Chitose paused, then went on, his voice more serious still. “Even then it may not matter. And you... You think because you’ve so far managed to stay out of her political schemes, you won’t ever have to be involved. But you will be the next Lord of Shitenhouji. You may find your hands tied even without noticing it.” His tone became gentler, almost regretful. “You’ve been a good friend to me, and I don’t want to add to your burden. But I will not stand by and do nothing while that heartless harpy tries to use my sister for her own ends.”

Chitose’s tone sent chills down his spine, and Shiraishi unconsciously straightened. “What are you planning to do?”

“Exactly what I said I would do. Wait and watch. But if the situation develops, I _will_ do whatever is necessary to keep my baby sister out of it.” Chitose added in a softer tone. “I wanted to let you know, at least.”

They were allies, hailing from the same dominion. But more than that, they were friends. Shiraishi gave a firm nod. “I understand. We must do what we must. Miyuki-chan is lucky to have you.”

“Thanks.” His seriousness dissipated like the mist under sunlight, and Chitose’s easy grin returned in full. “So anyway, I wanted to tell you about the prediction thing I’ve been working on. You’re not going to believe it, but it really works! I mean, for chess. Which is great, because I’d much rather use it for chess than military strategies, anyway. If you ask me, it’s a bloody useless skill if I can’t use it for my game.”

~*~*~*~

Around the time Shiraishi was entertaining his unexpected guests, Rikkai dominion mansion was receiving its own – albeit expected – guest. As soon as he jumped off his horse, the said guest threw off his hood, grinning at the person who’d be waiting for him since he’d arrived at the gates.

“Yanagi-san,” he greeted. At the slight raise of a brow, he hastily bowed. “Uh. I mean, it’s been a while, Lord Yanagi.”

“Young Lord Kirihara,” returned Yanagi solemnly with an irreproachably polite inclination of the head. However, the next moment Yanagi’s lips curved in a small smile. “It’s been a while, Akaya. Come. Yukimura and the others are waiting for you.”

“So did the commander get the approval? Is he the Lord of Rikkai yet?”

Yanagi chuckled at the young man’s impatience. “The imperial edict was announced today. There will be an official installation ceremony in a week’s time.”

“That long? Hell. Why don’t they just get it over with already?”

“It’s best to let things take their due course.” Yanagi said mildly enough, but there was a trace of impatience echoing in his eyes. “Besides, this changes nothing for Seiichi. He’s been the commander of our forces and the leader of Rikkai’s council for years. It is an official acknowledgement of the fact, nothing more.”

“Eh? But don’t we get like, a feast or something?” Kirihara was never the one to say no to free food. Yanagi held back an amused laugh.

“After the installation ceremony,” Yanagi said officiously. “Which will take place in the imperial palace. The Empress was most gracious and granted us the use of the gardens in the Inner Court.” Yanagi’s words were laced with subtle irony.

“Sweet,” Kirihara replied, oblivious. Subtlety had never been Kirihara’s strong point.

Yanagi laughed quietly with a light, affectionate tap on Kirihara’s shoulder. “Never you mind. Let’s hurry.”

~*~*~*~

When the two of them arrived at the main meeting hall, it was occupied only by Yukimura and five of his most trusted companions. Which meant the proceedings of this meeting would be kept from the rest of the Rikkai council until later. Sanada contented himself with a short look as they entered, but other members weren’t quite so formal. Marui and Kuwahara immediately sprang to their feet, calling out friendly greetings to Kirihara, offering their hands in welcome. Yagyuu and Niou joined in at a more sedate pace, extending their welcomes and inquiring after Kirihara’s health. After the initial flurry died down, Kirihara recalled himself and bowed deeply in Yukimura and Sanada’s direction, the latter of whom frowned at him.

Yukimura, however, smiled. “Welcome back, Akaya.”

“Akaya. You shouldn’t act so informal while in the imperial capital,” Sanada said, the frown still on his face. Kirihara quailed, bowing deeper, and Yukimura let out a silvery peal of laughter, touching Sanada’s shoulder briefly. Sanada acquiesced, and nodded shortly. “Welcome back.”

Certain his lapse in manners had been forgiven, Kirihara beamed at both of them, and assumed his seat. As soon as he settled down, Yukimura regarded him with a serious look, all traces of earlier levity gone. “From your letter, I understand you have important news, which must be delivered in person.”

Kirihara gave a nod. “Didn’t think the letter would be secure enough. Well, it’s about the northern border. You know, with the two new dominions?” 

“Higa and Seiru,” Yukimura replied immediately. Although still widely called “new,” it had been twenty years since the two dominions were created. “Go on.”

“Seems like even while finishing up with Seishun they’re also mobilizing on the other side. And by that, I mean serious preparations are underway. Number of troops deployed at the fortresses of Suri and Kumi has tripled, with new provisions are coming in every day.”

Suri and Kumi were two major fortresses held by their neighboring kingdom along the edge of the border they shared with Higa. “There have been reports of some movements there,” Sanada confirmed.

“Yeah, I know. I took a peek at the imperial reports from Higa and Seiru.” Imperial reports were meant for the Emperor’s eyes only and kept strictly confidential, one copy sent directly to the capital via courier, and one copy kept locked in the dominion lord’s archive. Sanada just _looked_ at him, and Kirihara grinned weakly. “Er...I didn’t have the time to observe all formalities? I was in a hurry.” Meaning he stole into the dominion archives to look at the reports illegally. It hardly needed to be said. A short quirk of the mouth was the only reaction from Yanagi, while others openly snickered or smiled to themselves. “Anyway those are outdated. I went out there personally and saw some serious, heavy-duty siege engines being secretly transported in.”

“Are you certain?” Sanada demanded. “That’s a serious matter. Are you sure they were siege weapons?”

“Yeah. They’re disguised as pieces of construction machinery but there’s no mistaking it. I’m pretty sure I can tell a trebuchet from a tread-wheel crane. I even went down to their so-called repair sites. Hell, you can’t count digging ditches and building stockades ‘repairs,’ can you? But more importantly, the watch has been redoubled all along our northern border. And I’m pretty sure they’re sending in spies to the cities on Seiru’s side of the border, too. Way too many people going in and out. And those aren’t even on trading routes.”

There was a short, considering silence. “So. They’re getting ready for a war. Not a border skirmish this time, but an all-out war.” Yukimura’s voice was devoid of emotion. “How quickly do you estimate they can mobilize?”

“When I left, the preparations were starting up for real, so I’d say three months, maybe less.”

“What are they waiting for?” Marui wondered aloud. “If they’re set for war, then why haven’t they done anything yet?”

“If they’re after an all-out war, then they’re not going to start until something happens on this side. Doubtless our little internal problem’s receiving their full attention.” Niou’s lazy drawl was met with a short nod from Yanagi. “Old dotard or not, the Emperor is still the rallying point for all of the empire. While he still lives, the stability, however uneasy, will hold. It’s when he kicks the bucket that all bets will be off.”

“Which is why it’s even more crucial to settle the issue of succession once and for all. While that remains up in the air, the court splinters more every day.” Yagyuu’s observation was mild enough, but underlying it was a spike of steel. “The Emperor cannot persist on this point. Leaving a three-year-old on the throne – this is worse than a folly. The Emperor must be made to see reason.”

“Agreed, but I doubt they will even wait that long.” Yanagi glanced at Sanada and Yukimura, who have not spoken yet, then continued. “If the matter of succession escalates to an armed conflict, they won’t wait. And even if the Emperor recants his choice, and accepts Prince Masara as the heir, a twelve-year-old on the throne is only marginally better than a three-year-old. It will depend entirely on the choice of regent. That is my guess on what they’re waiting for.”

Yukimura raised his eyes to regard his council gravely. “Had it been anyone else but the Emperor supporting him, the baby prince wouldn’t even have been a serious contender. Unfortunately, the Emperor holds just enough of the court in his sway – and the Empress at bay.”

“What’s your assessment of the vixen, anyway?” The question was from Kuwahara, directed to Yukimura. If the Emperor was the old fox, the Empress was the vixen – the comparison had stuck, and many referred to the imperial couple that way in private.

“Strong. Ambitious. Determined.” Yukimura paused briefly. “Whether she can succeed at holding the court together without her husband remains to be seen.” Yukimura gave another brief pause before he continued. “The Empress has suggested an alliance with Rikkai.”

“Aha.” Niou smirked. “That explains why she oh-so-graciously offered the imperial gardens of the Inner Court for the post-installation festivities.”

“Among other things. But chiefly, she hinted at a more...permanent form of binding.”

“Marriage,” Yagyuu guessed instantly. “But Prince Masara is still a child.”

“And one she holds too exalted for alliance of marriage with us,” Yukimura replied dryly. “No, I’m certain that’s not what she meant. She likely has one of her nephews in mind.”

“For your sister’s hand?” Yanagi asked. Yukimura nodded. “The older one’s twenty-three, and the younger, twenty-two. If it weren’t for their father’s status, it wouldn’t be a bad match.”

Marui snapped his fingers. “Oh, Fuji. The one that swept archery wins the last few years? Yeah, he’s pretty popular with the ladies. Not too bad-looking,” he snickered, amused at his own joke. The elder of the two Fuji brothers was extremely popular with the women in the court, thanks to a refined, handsome face and a graceful figure, coupled with intelligence and a soft-spoken, gentle demeanor. It didn’t hurt, of course, that he was the openly acknowledged favorite of the Empress. “Might even give Yukimura a run for his money, don’t you think?”

Yanagi gave him a quelling look. Yukimura was one of few archers granted the honor of personalized arrows in the empire, and had his fletched with jet-black raven feathers – a reference to the Yukimura clan symbol, the three-legged raven. But Yukimura rarely ever drew a bow even in closest company, let alone in public.

“I’m less concerned about the potential bridegroom than what it signifies should I accept.” Yukimura’s calm announcement was met with another stretch of silence.

Finally, Sanada, who had remained so far silent, spoke. “I, too, believe Prince Masara will make a better candidate. But a formal alliance with the Empress potentially means the alienation of the faction supporting the Emperor. I dislike the thought of giving the enemy their chance by _starting_ an internal strife.”

Yukimura watched him closely, but did not answer. Yanagi, after waiting in vain for Yukimura to speak, let out an inaudible sigh. “To summarize, a war is unavoidable. It remains only when they will choose to strike. Internal strife is already present.” He shot a look at Sanada as he spoke, then at Yukimura. “But Rikkai’s choice of alliance can spark a concrete shift in the balance. We are sure to be opposed by Hyoutei, at the very least. Shitenhouji may remain neutral, at least for the time being, but their sympathies have always lain closer with Hyoutei than Rikkai.”

Yukimura’s lips quirked. “It would be more correct to say their sympathies lie in whichever way with less conflict. From what Sanada tells me, Shiraishi is determined to keep Shitenhouji out of the succession debate. He would also like us to do likewise.”

“What about Seishun?” Niou’s question was thoughtful. “Are they likely to become an issue? The Emperor’s holding their Tezuka in the capital. And they did just win the campaign. If they follow our footsteps, they will be able to gain quite a bit of influence, if they play their cards right.”

Yanagi shook his head. “Tezuka has no taste for politics, from what I’ve observed. I doubt they will.”

“What do you think?” Yukimura’s eyes were sharp, interrogative, fixed on Sanada. “You said your grandfather was acquainted with Tezuka’s. Tezuka’s father has been characterized by his lack of ambition his entire life, but I hear the son takes after the grandfather, not the father.”

“Tezuka Kunikazu was a formidable warrior in his youth,” Sanada replied gravely, “and as one of the empire’s Shitennou, still commands a lot of respect, especially among the older noble families. But he was never interested in politics. If Tezuka Kunimitsu is anything like him, I doubt he will take any interest in the matter of succession.”

“That’s not to say he won’t become a threat.” His words were casually neutral, but Yukimura’s eyes were hooded. “Your grandfather was named one of the four legendary warriors who were compared to the four god-kings. Combined with your family’s illustrious lineage, that could have given you ascendency over me, had you chosen to pursue it.” Sanada frowned, and was about to speak, but Yukimura held up a hand. “A debate we won’t continue here. But you remember that the Empress herself enjoys a golden halo as one of the grandchildren of Crown Prince Shotoku, also one of the Shitennou.”

Sanada frowned, but did not refute Yukimura’s argument. “Your decision, then, is to watch Tezuka.”

“I have in good confidence that he won’t fail to become the next Lord of Seishun soon. And no dominion-lord can remain apolitical for long. For now, watching will suffice, but we shall see.” With his eyes alone Yukimura gathered his companions’ full attention to him, holding them as one. “I need not remind you what has been said in this room must remain a secret. Niou, you and Akaya continue monitoring the border. We cannot afford to be surprised. Sanada, see to it that we strengthen our own fortifications. Yagyuu and Yanagi can help you with that. Marui and Kuwabara, you two will go to Rikkai in my place as soon as the installation ceremony is over and serve as my proxy. I won’t be able to leave the imperial capital, at least for a while.” Yukimura waited until everyone showed their acknowledgement for the orders. “As to the question of marriage...I will take my time to think about it. We will meet again the day before the installation ceremony to discuss any updates. Any questions?” Only silence answered him. “Then, let us adjourn. I’m sure Akaya must be hungry.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The map for this story is still a work-in-progress because geography has always been the bane of my existence. I may have to shift some details later after I finalize the map. x__x GAH, I hate having to change things after I post it. Next chapter will come with a little digression on the political structure of this world.


	5. Book I: Troubled Sea - Chapter 05

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finished NaNoWriMo! Although the story in question didn't actually finish. :(
> 
> Today, November 30, 2014 is the first anniversary of _**Sea of Hidden Dragon**_ completion. _**Sea of Hidden Dragon**_ started life as NaNoWriMo project of 2012, and ended as the NaNoWriMo project of 2013. The idea behind _**Sea of Hidden Dragon**_ started in January of 2007. So you know I really, really finish my stories. ~~It just takes years and years. lol~~
> 
> Chapter 5 is the end of **BOOK I: TROUBLED SEA**. Warning: here be exposition like whoa. :)

_Chapter 05_

[11.30.2014 version]

The grand mansion where Fuji siblings lived had once belonged to the Crown Prince Shotoku, their great-grandfather.

At the time, for a crown prince to own a place of residence outside the imperial palace was unprecedented, but the unusual request had been granted without much opposition owing to the high favor and unusual indulgence he enjoyed from both the imperial court and the people. The crown prince was a figure of splendor in mythic proportions in his lifetime and beyond. For one, he was generally regarded as a finest poet and writer, a prodigy who learned his first thousand letters before he was yet five years old. For another, his prowess in battle had been so astonishing, that he was declared a reincarnation of a god-king, one of the four Heavenly Guardians – the Shitennou – who upheld the laws of heaven, earth, and hell. But most of all, what dazzled all his contemporaries was his unparalleled skill with archery. Numerous anecdotes survived from Prince Shotoku’s lifetime, regaling his legendary feats in archery. A beautiful, ornately carved bow, a gift from his father the Emperor, remained Prince Shotoku’s signature weapon all his life.

Unfortunately, before he could ascend to the throne, the Crown Prince Shotoku died of a sudden illness at the young age of thirty-five, leaving behind a grief-stricken widow and a nine-year-old son. As his young son, Prince Ootomo, was deemed too young to take the throne, the crown then passed to the Prince Shotoku’s younger brother, Prince Kotoku, and then – and this with much controversy – to Prince Kotoku’s own son Prince Ooama. Prince Ootomo died without ever fulfilling his dream of ascending to the throne, and his only children were two daughters, Princess Yoshiko and Princess Ahe. However, before his untimely death Prince Ootomo managed to elevate his deified father, Crown Prince Shotoku, to the status of the Emperor posthumously, allowing his daughters a claim to the throne once more. The question of succession was finally settled when the current Emperor (formerly the Prince Ooama), after the death of his first Empress, married the Princess Ahe as his second Empress. The marriage reunited the imperial lines into one, and a child between the imperial couple would claim undisputed right to the throne.

Sixteen years of barren marriage was enough proof there would never be any children. No matter how exalted her own lineage, the Empress could not legitimize the claims of a child that didn’t exist. Hence, she had taken the drastic step of adopting a child as her own.

Although their father’s lowly status prevented them from taking imperial titles, the Fuji siblings were nonetheless descended from the Crown Prince Shotoku. And so they were, along with their mother and aunt, the heirs to the legacy and inheritance of their legendary great-grandfather, including Prince Shotoku’s private mansion. Prince Shotoku had a profound affection for antique works of art, and had collected a vast number of them during the years he’d resided at the place. Prince Ootomo, who found his first cradle and deathbed both in the mansion, was a gifted painter, and loved exotic garden plants, often imported from distant places, including the spiky, thorny species from the deserts gracing corners of the mansion’s extensive series of gardens. Princess Yoshiko had filled several rooms with intricate and beautiful images hand-embroidered in silk. And now, under Fuji Syuusuke’s care, the priceless artifacts and artworks were arranged and rearranged to perfection, and the gardens maintained meticulously, as if the original owners still lived through them.

Even though none of the three siblings had ever met their great-grandfather or grandfather, it was clear the same blood flowed through their veins. Like their great-grandfather, Yumiko had achieved fame early as a poet and a writer, not to mention a gifted archer. Both Syuusuke and Yuuta were talented warriors, with Syuusuke showing a special aptitude for archery as well. Like their grandfather, Syuusuke also appreciated art, and often painted or sketched. Perhaps that was why, despite the fact Syuusuke and Yuuta had scarcely spent a decade in the mansion, they seemed to fit in marvelously well.

~*~*~*~

Visiting Prince Shotoku’s mansion posed a particular delight for Atobe, who appreciated art. As always, the elder Fuji received him at the doors to the mansion’s central building. Most nobles preferred to have their guests escorted to their drawing rooms rather than meet them outside. But Fuji persisted in his odd quirks, and Atobe had long since gotten accustomed to them.

“Keigo,” Fuji greeted, leading the way to one of Atobe’s favorite rooms in the mansion, decorated with delicate pieces of pottery and an oversized hanging scroll as the room’s centerpiece. It was silk embroidery of a magnificent dragon rising from the sea, produced in exquisite details with the finest silken and metallic threads. The rising dragon was Atobe’s favorite among Princess Yoshiko’s works. Understanding his fondness for those, Fuji often invited him to stay in the rooms where his mother’s embroideries were displayed. “Regretfully, Yuuta isn’t in today. He’s out paying his respects and catching up with his friends here. Tea?”

“Fuji,” Atobe started, then stopped for a moment. Rather than asking why he came, Fuji waited him out, pouring him fragrant tea from a pale green-blue celadon tea set that were likely dated at least two centuries. Atobe thanked him and sipped his tea, putting his thoughts in order. To start, he drew out a small, silk-wrapped bundle and pushed it across the table to Fuji, who mutely unwrapped it. Nestled inside was the jade dragon pendant with blue silk cord, its eyes flashing like twin specks of fire. Fuji took it automatically, cradling it in both hands.

“So, about that jade dragon of yours,” Atobe said, putting down his cup. “I found out who it belongs to.”

Fuji sipped his tea, and interrogated him with a look only.

“It was an imperial token of gratitude to one of the Shitennou.”

Fuji placed his cup on the table without even the barest noise, no apparent concern or even curiosity in his demeanor. “Which one?”

“Tezuka Kunikazu,” Atobe replied, watching carefully for Fuji’s reaction. “To commemorate one of his greatest victories. Likely it was passed down from father to son.” Despite himself, Atobe was becoming absorbed in his own story. “The design was most peculiar: a crouching dragon with one Cintamani in its jaws and a paw resting on a second one. I found records of its original design in the imperial archives. And the day you found it happens to coincide with the arrival of one Tezuka Kunimitsu in the capital.” Atobe stopped, noting the sudden stillness that pervaded Fuji’s entire frame. Fuji’s expression was unreadable, like a sudden wall had slammed down and obscured whatever emotions he felt. Fuji he knew was guarded even when he seemed perfectly at ease, but rarely this opaque, this forbidding, as if a wall of thick ice surrounded his person.

“I see,” Fuji murmured. “Thank you, Keigo.”

Atobe studied him in silence, then drummed his fingers on the side of his teacup thoughtfully. “Fuji.”

“Yes?”

“I never asked what happened during the ten years you spent away from the capital,” he said, then stopped with a hint of uncertainty he showed to very few. “You and I have known each other for a long time. And I remember you very clearly at age nine, when you left for Rokkaku. No matter what you think, however many you fool with that same smile, I know you were no longer the same person when you returned ten years later. But – while you still speak of your time at Rokkaku fondly, you never speak of Seishun.”

“Ah.” A smile curved Fuji’s lips, but it was a frozen smile.

Atobe pinned him with a serious look, trying in vain to catch Fuji’s eyes. “Should I have asked?”

Fuji poured more tea into his own cup, in no discernible hurry to answer him. “What’s there to tell? I spent five years in Seishun, first in my father’s household, then at Seishun’s court after my father began to travel.”

That Fuji chose to block rather than evade at least was a testament to their friendship, Atobe thought with a measure of cynicism. “Your brother accompanied your father on his trips. Why didn’t you?”

“Yuuta prefers an active life. I prefer painting and reading,” Fuji said with a small shrug.

“And that’s why you never visit Seishun now? Your father’s land and estate are in Seishun, for crying out loud. Even your mother visits frequently.”

Fuji’s pleasant smile took on an edge that was anything but. “I didn’t realize this was of such interest to you.”

“When one so scrupulously avoids talking about something, it naturally draws interest,” Atobe snapped, his temper beginning to rise. “If you don’t wish to talk about Seishun, then say so. But don’t trifle with me like you do with others.”

“Is that what I do, hmm?” A sliver of malicious amusement glinted in Fuji’s eyes. If a crocodile could grin, with the full array of its razor-sharp teeth, it would be a fair approximation of the expression that graced Fuji’s face just now. “Hard as it may be for you to understand this, _Lord Atobe_ , not everyone in this world feels quite so compelled to oblige your every desire.”

“Cut it out.” Atobe’s tone was equally sharp. “You are the one who said we’re friends, are you not?”

Friends. There was a time Atobe Keigo didn’t have friends, only allies. From far too early in life he’d learned he could never trust goodwill at face value. And he and Fuji were so different, very few people who knew them understood why they were even friends. Actually to this date Atobe didn’t know what made Fuji want to befriend him all those years ago. Probably boredom, he suspected, being taken to the imperial palace so often then left alone for hours with no other kids around the place. Fuji was annoyingly and perpetually cheerful and one could never guess what was going on inside that pretty head, but he was also exhaustingly stubborn and damnably persistent with some things. And perhaps as a child he hadn’t exactly appreciated that he had been one of those few things Fuji persisted about. But Fuji was the very first to make him give up and concede the title of a friend, and worse, mean every nuance of that word. Even now, out of his numerous allies and countless acquaintances, Fuji was one of the truly few whom he could call a friend.

“I am, Keigo,” Fuji said gently, warmth replacing the edge in his voice.

His brittle anger faded at the deliberate change of appellation. One thing Atobe had always known for certain – Fuji took their friendship very seriously even if he rarely showed it. Atobe nodded once in acceptance, the gesture both simple and formal. “You were missing in the banquet the Emperor gave for Tezuka. Did you know the jade dragon was his?”

Fuji shook his head mutely, looking wry. “I didn’t, actually. As for the banquet, I doubt I was missed.”

“The Empress marked it. She didn’t say anything, but she didn’t miss it. And since she noticed, so did the Emperor.”

“But nobody else.” Fuji refilled their teacups, which Atobe accepted with thanks. “Since you’re abusing your position as a friend,” he started playfully, but the equanimity behind his words was forced. “I knew Tezuka. We...didn’t exactly part on good terms.”

“Oh? That’s surprising, for you.” It was. Fuji got along with almost anyone quite easily, but it owed less to his easygoing nature than to a blatant disregard for the vast majority of the world’s populace. Although he was equally pleasant to everyone he met, he rarely took more than a mild and detached liking to people, Atobe being one of the few notable exceptions, naturally. Conversely, Fuji never bothered to entertain anything as significant as dislike or, heaven forbid, actual hatred.

The sole exception was a little scheming weasel Yuuta met during his excursion at Seiru, by the name of Mizuki, who managed to seduce Yuuta away from his brother’s side for a better part of a year. That, however, was one of the forbidden topics with Fuji, unless one wished to incur Fuji’s profound and formidable wrath.

“Hey. I’m only human. Am I not allowed to have arguments like one?” Fuji’s voice was mild enough, and Atobe decided to risk delving a bit deeper.

“Petty arguments don’t lead to years of silence,” Atobe observed neutrally.

“Maybe it wasn’t a petty argument, then.” Fuji finished his tea, but did not refill the cup. “That is to say, Keigo, I don’t want to talk about this.”

Atobe nodded. He knew when a field was lost. Just because he never served in the army, it didn’t mean he wasn’t thoroughly trained in the art of war. “Do you still intend to return the pendant?” With another, it might have been a prelude to another ambush. But this was Fuji, his first-ever acknowledged friend, so Atobe shrugged and continued, “I can have it returned via courier, if you wish.”

Fuji was silent for a heartbeat. “I’ll think on it.” He sounded honest, enough for Atobe to let it go, at least. “Will you stay for dinner?”

“As long as you don’t require any special menu from the cook,” Atobe replied wryly. Fuji’s tastes for spicy fare had to be seen and experienced to be believed. Fuji smiled brightly at him, and Atobe resigned himself to being surprised by something horribly spicy during dinner.

“Done.”

~*~*~*~

When her brother paid her another visit, this time in the garden, Lady Yukimura did not rebuff him, but said nothing as he approached. With a glance, her brother divined her anger was still implacable, and plunged ahead to business rather than wasting his breath on pleasantries.

“I’ve checked out the bridegroom the Empress picked out for you,” he said without preamble. “It’s Fuji Syuusuke, her nephew. Princess Yoshiko’s son.”

“Ah.” She received the news with placidity, but also without a modicum of interest.

“He has no political aspirations,” Yukimura went on to explain. “Which makes him easy to move. The Empress sees this as his greatest asset.”

Lady Yukimura’s eyes bore into his. “And you consider it his greatest flaw. What if I refuse him? Or if I marry him, and he retires from the political scene altogether?”

Yukimura looked at her, his heather-grey eyes gentle. “It will be as you wish, sister.”

“I do not forget that I am your sister.” Her voice held no bitterness. The reminder was enough.

“And I love you.” Yukimura’s voice reflected no hurt in return. “I will have it as you wish.”

At those words Lady Yukimura recalled the temple, where she had fled to as a last recourse. She had been under no illusion even then; it had been shortly after her suitor had left, his suit for her hand rejected by the Lord Yukimura. Her brother must have known why she took that sudden trip to the temple, and what she secretly hoped for in her anxious heart. She had armed guards around her person, of course. However, the guards had been no greater in number than she was accustomed to have, and were each and every one her own men she’d kept since she was a young girl. Her brother had required no more, and had not lifted a finger to stop her from going to the temple. If her lover had dared one last attempt, perhaps her brother might have—

If only. Though her expression did not change, Lady Yukimura’s eyes thawed in reply. “I will not regret the past,” she said softly, her voice low but firm. “Nor abandon my future. I will give you my answer within a week.”

Her brother acknowledged both her forgiveness and her resolve with a courtly bow of his head. There were no more words needed. When he offered his arm, she took it, and arm in arm, the brother and the sister walked through the garden together.

~*~*~*~

“So you decided to align yourself with the Empress, after all.”

Yukimura paused, then walked inside, shutting the door behind himself. Silently he padded over to where Yanagi and Sanada sat together with their cups of tea, and took a seat facing both of his friends. Yanagi, who made the observation, poured him a fresh cup of tea, which Yukimura accepted with a murmur of thanks. “I merely presented my sister with a choice.”

“You wouldn’t have mentioned it to her at all if you didn’t want to accept.” Yanagi’s voice was neutral, merely observant rather than challenging. On the other hand, Sanada’s silence was laced with disapproval. “Your sister knows you well. She understands she is free to make her own choice, but that your choice has already been made.”

“My installation ceremony is in two days. It will proceed no matter what she decides. And I have already told her that I will respect her choice. My real work will begin after that.”

“Seiichi.” Yanagi’s voice gained an undertone of reproof, while Sanada looked up, his gaze implacable.

“You’ve already chosen the Empress. And your choice is to be shared with Rikkai. You said you’d take due time to think about it. Not a week has passed since,” Sanada pointed out, never the one to waste words, or mince them.

Yukimura inclined his head in acknowledgment. “I take it you disapprove, then.”

“Of Prince Masara as the heir, no. But this will escalate the tension between the Emperor and the Empress. Now is a bad time.” Sanada’s brows furrowed. “I don’t like the thought of the Empress as the guardian of the throne, either.”

“Neither do I,” Yukimura admitted. “She likes the throne a little too much, methinks. Whether she would truly be content to rule behind the screens is a question worth asking.” _Behind the screens._ The empire had never had a ruling empress, and it was unlikely that there would be one in the foreseeable future. But a dowager empress could rule through a child emperor, making decisions on his behalf until he reached majority. She would attend court and take part in the empire’s daily affairs from behind the bamboo screens – initially placed to keep the emperor’s mother modestly out of public view – whence the term originated. In effect “behind the screens” was tantamount to a dowager empress’s reign.

“Then why?” Sanada demanded, relentless.

“Because one way or another, this must be decided. The sooner, the better. And if you think the Empress is the only one consolidating power, you’re wrong. Are you aware that the Emperor had Tezuka summoned four times in as many days? And this is after the lavish banquet he threw in honor of Tezuka’s victories.”

“You think the Emperor is wary of your involvement with the Empress, and preparing his own support base to either restrain or match us,” Yanagi said softly. “Headed by a war-hero, a rising star within the ranks, Seishun could grow to be a threat. But not for a good while. Tezuka has no experience with court affairs, and Yamato, while a favorite to both the Emperor and the Empress, is sure to abdicate within the year.”

Yukimura was quiet, sipping his tea contemplatively. Finally, he spoke again, his voice tinged with a hint of uncertainty. “Were it that those were the only categories by which we could judge others, nothing unexpected would ever happen.”

“You doubt my calculations?” Although Yanagi’s question was deceptively mild, stung pride was no mere trifle, not when it involved Yanagi Renji, the master tactician famed throughout Rikkai and the empire.

Yukimura smiled, his sincere tone leaving no room for doubt. “Would I ever? That’s not what I meant. Tezuka and Yamato, they are different from others. They lack...” He paused, searching for the right words, then failing. “They lack the same sort of...threads that bind other men. Often men are ambitious or greedy. Even the bravest have weaknesses, things they secretly fear. All men have something to lose, if naught but their own life. I’ve looked into both of them, but I find nothing.”

“Nothing that will give you power over them,” Yanagi pointed out slyly, lips curving with a slow smile. “What do you think, Genichirou?”

Sanada thought for a moment. “If Tezuka is anything like his grandfather, he will prize honor above life. And Yamato’s dedication to Seishun is well known.”

“Yes, but a dominion is infinitely harder to threaten than a person. As for dishonor – unlikely for someone who seems to have never even so much as blinked the wrong way. Tezuka’s records are disgustingly spotless. And his conduct with the troops – irreproachable.”

“As it should be. Tezuka’s handled the campaign adequately.” Sanada, while not entirely enthused about Tezuka, seemed to at least entertain some respect for his probity and exemplary conduct as a military leader. Then again, Sanada’s own grandfather Gen’emon and Tezuka’s grandfather Kunikazu had been lifelong archrivals, and shared a similar relationship of mutual respect coupled with fierce rivalry. Perhaps more so from Sanada Gen'emon's side, but that was a taboo subject for the entire Sanada household and beyond.

“For Tezuka’s sake I hope he has at least one weakness, then,” Yanagi teased lightly. “Or you would do your utmost to destroy him just for the fun of it.”

Yukimura glared at him, the annoyance only half-feigned. “I don’t destroy people for fun, only out of necessity. Besides, I can crush him anytime I need to regardless. It remains to be seen whether I will need to.”

“The same words, out of anyone else’s mouth, would be called arrogance.” Yanagi maintained his lofty tone, and Sanada snorted.

“Not from me,” Yukimura said simply, without taking the least offense. All three of them knew what Yukimura promised was true. “I don’t boast. And not from Atobe, either.”

Sanada frowned. “Why Atobe? He boasts all the time.”

“Never without the full commitment to follow through. He has yet to fail even once.”

Yanagi studied him, taken aback. “Surprising words from you, Seiichi. Atobe has no military records, as you’ve repeated often enough. The empire will never accept a leader who cannot lead her armies in battle.”

“It makes him no less a threat, nor does it imply he cannot learn. He lacks practical experience, yes, but experience is easily gained. Make no mistake: he understands the value of propaganda and public opinion better than anyone else in this empire. He cannot lead the empire as he is now, but given half a chance he will jump to rectify that. And for every move he makes, he will make sure the public opinion swells well out of proportion. He knows how to appease and pander to the vanity of a fickle crowd. Of Atobe and Tezuka, it is Atobe who is more of a threat.”

“But Atobe has at least one weakness, by your reasoning: ambition,” Yanagi pointed out, undeterred.

Sanada looked away, clearly becoming annoyed by the banter. “We were talking about Tezuka,” he said sharply in reminder. Yukimura and Yanagi exchanged a look promising to continue their discussion later, when Sanada wasn’t waiting impatiently, then dropped the subject.

“Ah yes. Renji, can you have Tezuka watched? I’ve already exhausted my resources.”

“I’ll see if Niou and Yagyuu can oversee it personally, then. Will that do?”

“Yes, marvelously.” Yukimura looked back at Sanada, more serious now. “I know my decision may seem hasty, Genichirou. But I firmly believe Prince Masara should become the crown prince. I’ve left the question of marriage to my sister precisely because I am supporting Prince Masara, not the Empress. It matters little to me whether or not there is an alliance through marriage. Not since I’ve confirmed the bridegroom in question is Fuji Syuusuke.”

“Ah.” Understanding dawned on Sanada’s expression. “I see.”

“Fuji Syuusuke?” Yanagi repeated. “I suppose it’s expected. Of the two brothers, he is the Empress’s preferred one.”

“Yes. But the important thing is this: Fuji Syuusuke will not pose either hindrance or advantage to the Empress, or for us. Whether my sister accepts him as her bridegroom matters little in that case.”

Sanada was frowning, lips in a thin line. He fixed Yukimura with a stern look. “You’re working under the assumption she will refuse. What if she accepts?”

“Genichirou.” Yukimura returned the look, unflinching. “My sister knows me, as Renji said. She will understand it is her choice alone. She will only accept if she wishes to. But her reasons will remain her own.”

Sanada nodded curtly, accepting his words in a tacit agreement. Lady Yukimura was no less willful than her brother, and likely would make her decision with the same exacting standards.

Yanagi cleared his throat. “One less thing to decide during tomorrow’s meeting, I suppose. And I’ll go talk to Niou and Yagyuu today. Was there anything else,” he added, spearing Yukimura with a look, “that we need to know?”

“Nothing but one more request, Renji. Keep an eye on Shitenhouji.”

Yukimura’s suggestion was accepted with a meaningful look and a nod from Yanagi. “I will.”

“And how are our preparations at the northern border, Genichirou?”

“Moving ahead. I quashed the initial complaints and questions in the Department of Defense. But there will be more soon.”

“I’ll take care of that, then. Do you need anything from me?” Yukimura looked from Sanada to Yanagi, then nodded. “Alright, then. Can we break out something alcoholic, then? I’m in the mood for some Maotai today.”

**END OF BOOK I: TROUBLED SEA**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up: Chapter 6 to open **BOOK II: AWAKENING DRAGON**!


	6. Book II: Awakening Dragon – Chapter 06

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've spent almost a whole MONTH being sick on and off. X__X Something nasty has been going around at work and everyone seems to share my affliction, so at least I have plenty of company in my misery. XD Course, the bad news is that I haven't managed to write/revise anything at all. Sorry for the delay, folks. :(
> 
>  **Book II: Awakening Dragon** is pretty slow. XD And it contains two flashback chapters. But from Book III onward the plot starts moving, so it should bore you less. Hopefully. For Chapter 6...my favorite thing to do in AU fanfiction is to splice canon moments with a slightly different twist, hence the final scene. ♥ And next chapter, which unfortunately won't be out for a while, the antagonist couple will upstage the protagonist couple who hasn't even managed to meet in person. XD XD XD
> 
> Quick note on Fudomine: it's a special (tiny) dominion created for an imperial prince who took a different surname (Tachibana) a scarce century or so ago, so its lord is always the head of the Tachibana clan, styled the Prince of Fudomine. Kippei is still the heir only, so his official title is Lord Tachibana, but some informally refer to him as the young prince anyway. It's a Japanese thing, actually, and there really were princes during Heian period who took the surname of Tachibana and gave up their imperial family membership. Ever since learning that, it's been a running gag in my stories to feature the Tachibana siblings as royalty.
> 
> Without further ado...chapter 6!

**SEA OF HIDDEN DRAGON**

와룡장해 :: 臥龍藏海

_by **Shiraume**_

[11/2012 & 11/2013]

****

**BOOK II: AWAKENING DRAGON**

[01/25/2015 Version]

_Chapter 06_

Upon ascending the front steps to the main edifice of the Tachibana family’s private mansion, Yuuta was grimly unsurprised to find Kamio waiting for him.

“Yo, Fuji. Fancy a spar?”

Yuuta didn’t bother with pleasantries. For one, Kamio must have stayed at the Tachibana mansion the whole time Yuuta himself was away, poking his nose where it didn’t belong. Like near An. For another, Kamio hated his guts and that wasn’t likely to change, given the reason for his frequent visits to the Tachibana mansion. “No. I’m here to see An – I mean, the young Lady Tachibana.”

“Lady Tachibana was busy when I left her. Why not spar with me while you wait?” A mocking gleam entered his wide smirk. “Or are you afraid to spoil your fine clothes?”

Yuuta’s eyes narrowed. He was just about to retort in kind when a swirl of orange silk and brown hair flew toward him.

“Yuuta!” An exclaimed, out of breath, flushed with exertion and joy. Her hair was nearly coming undone, her trailing outer robe hanging by her elbows. Yuuta thought he’d never seen a more beautiful sight.

“An,” he said, and couldn’t help the bright smile that lit up his whole face. “You look well.”

“So do you.” An’s answering smile was quickly replaced by a reproachful glare. “Oh, how could you? Five months, and only two letters! I half-wondered if you were eaten by a bear.”

“Sorry. I was on the road constantly. And I’m rubbish with letters, anyway.”

An stifled a laugh in her sleeve. “Yes. Yes, you are. But it’s nice to hear from you anyway. Did you bring me anything?”

“Oh, so that’s what you missed.”

Kamio, completely forgotten by their joyful reunion, cleared his throat pointedly. “I hate to interrupt,” he said with perfect insincerity. “But shouldn’t you go pay your respects to Lord Tachibana first?”

Yuuta was about to reply, but An cut him off. “Oh, nonsense. My brother started the meeting ten minutes ago and won’t be available for at least an hour. You can go greet him when he’s done. Speaking of which...” Her inquisitive eyes turned to Kamio, who gulped and just barely managed not to blush under her scrutiny. “Shouldn’t you be at the meeting, Kamio-kun?”

“The meeting?” Kamio echoed, expression blank. “Oh, shit, the _meeting!_ Excuse me, An-chan.” Kamio bowed to An hurriedly and took off. Before Yuuta and An could count three heartbeats, Kamio was already disappearing around the corner.

“Heh, it’s almost like he knows the Shukuchi-technique,” was Yuuta’s faintly admiring comment.

“You mentioned that footwork before. From Higa, right? That they move so fast, it’s as if they fold the earth.” As she spoke An efficiently tucked her hairpins and jeweled combs back into her hair, then pulled up her outer robe. When she finished, there was no sign of her earlier disarray, though her hairdo might have been a bit looser than usual. “Let’s go walk in the garden. You can tell me all about Higa and Seiru and Rokkaku. You mentioned you were going to visit Rokkaku in your last letter. And you _did_ bring me something, right?”

Yuuta laughed, offering his arm, which she took readily. “Wow, I think you’re going to kick me out if I said I didn’t. I’ve already given it to your steward.”

“To our steward?” An frowned prettily, but nodded. “Oh, fine. We don’t want my brother to think we’re acting improper. He’s been going on and on about it lately.”

Yuuta led them through the winding footpath in the garden with a familiarity that bespoke frequent past visits. “Well, of course he’d worry. I mean, you’re that age, and you’re...” _Beautiful_ , Yuuta wanted to say, but the word died in his mouth with an awkward blush. “You know. His sister.”

An tossed her head, managing to look both proud yet sweet. “Now you sound just like Kamio-kun. Honestly, between you two and my brother, one would think I’m unable to take care of myself.”

“Kamio-kun?” Yuuta’s brows creased in remembered annoyance. “Come to think of it...you let him call you An-chan? That’s awfully familiar of him. You _are_ the young Lady Tachibana after all. He shouldn’t call your name so easily.”

Letting out a peal of laughter, An leaned her weight on Yuuta while she composed herself. “You know,” she gasped, her eyes sparkling with humor. “That’s exactly what Kamio-kun said about you.”

“An.” The way Yuuta spoke her name was in half petulant, half annoyed growl. An merely laughed, bringing up her free hand to pat his arm fondly.

“Kamio-kun is a perfect sweetheart, you know,” she teased, but her eyes held a sweetly fond expression as she regarded Yuuta. “But he’s _Kamio-kun_ , don’t you know that?”

It occurred to Yuuta that while An could be flirtatious, she never called anyone else, including Kamio, by the given name. Only Yuuta. His frown melted away at the thought, and Yuuta soothed down the surge of smugness. Vindictiveness was not in his nature, and besides, it was easy to forgive a foe that had already been vanquished. “You shouldn’t do that. He obviously likes you.”

“Oh?” The sly upturn of her mouth was enough to make Yuuta freeze nervously. “You mean, perhaps, I should be nicer to him on the account of that? I suppose I have known him longer. And he _is_ awfully sweet.”

“ _An._ ” This time, Yuuta’s voice was closer to a whine.

“But you just said Kamio-kun likes me, so I should be kind to him.”

“I like you more than he does,” Yuuta blurted out, and felt a blush creep along his neck. Oh, where was a convenient hole to bury himself in when he needed one?

“Do you, now?” An’s question was quiet, not provocative, and Yuuta looked at her. Her eyes held an earnest inquiry, and he was hopeless to answer her any way but in kind.

“Yes.” He fought down the blush, and was only partially successful. “And more importantly, you like...” Yuuta swallowed, feeling his blush return full-force. Damn, this honesty with feelings thing was tough. But when he’d sought advice on this matter during his sojourn in Rokkaku, he’d been told he should be honest, should be himself. Judging from An’s reaction so far, the advice had been a solid one. “You like _me_ more,” Yuuta finished, feeling lame, but plowing ahead. “I think.”

An squeezed his arm lovingly, the sweetest smile on her lips, and a sparkle of happiness in her eyes. “Never doubt it, Yuuta.”

~*~*~*~

Hours later, when Yuuta finally returned to Prince Shotoku’s mansion, he found his brother in the back of the garden where the archery practice range was set up.

“You’re back earlier than I thought,” Syuusuke commented, giving him a nod in greeting. “I thought you might stay the night at the Tachibana residence.”

“It wouldn’t be proper.” Yuuta couldn’t deny he wanted to, oh, he wanted to very much indeed. But he didn’t want accusation of improper conduct attached to their courtship in the future. An was popular at court, and he knew many other young nobles were eager to seek her hand in marriage. In courtship, rivals often besmirched each other with scandalous rumors, whether they were founded in truth or not, in attempts to detract each other. Far be it for him to give anyone ammunition.

“Ah. So you plan to present the young Lady Tachibana with an official suit for her hand.” Syuusuke absently fiddled with the bowstring. “I doubt her family will raise objections. Nor will the Empress, for that matter.” He looked up at his younger brother with a smile. “I suppose, then, congratulations are in order.”

“Not yet. I don’t want to – have things overlap too much.” Meaning his older brother’s potential wedding within the year. “Besides, I’m the younger brother. It wouldn’t be seemly for me to start courting first.”

Syuusuke chuckled. “Only you’d worry about that. But if it makes you feel better – the preparations for my wedding will move quickly once my bride-to-be accepts the proposal. Which will be soon, I think.”

“Who is it?” Yuuta asked instead of bring up their prior argument. Syuusuke was immovable once his mind was made up, but perhaps the choice of bride would influence him. Though given his current tone Yuuta rather doubted it.

“Lady Yukimura, Lord Yukimura’s sister.”

Just as Syuusuke predicted, then. Yuuta searched through his memory to recall the lady in question. Exceptional likeness to her brother, dark curls framing a lovely white face, and tumbling down her back in glossy tresses. Lady Yukimura was easily one of the most beautiful ladies at the court, yes. But Yuuta remembered her as a silent and aloof figure, staying quietly in the shadows, quite unlike her convivial brother who was always surrounded by people. His soft-spoken and poetic brother, husband to that icy and taciturn lady? It was hard to imagine.

“Have you spoken to her? What is she like?” Lady Yukimura had come only very recently to the imperial capital, less than a year ago, after spending nearly all her life hidden away at the Yukimura estate in Rikkai. And because of her reserved nature, very few knew what she was like.

“I haven’t, and I’ve no idea.”

“And you...you’re still going to marry her?”

Syuusuke gave a careless shrug, running light fingertips over his ornately carved bow. “If she accepts. I think it likely she will.”

Yuuta finally noticed which bow was cradled so carefully in his brother’s hands, and stared at it in surprise. “You took it out. Great-grandfather’s bow.”

“Mm.” Syuusuke’s fingers lightly plucked at the bowstring, which hummed to life even at the lightest touch. “If I don’t practice with it every once in a while, I forget my feel for it.”

“Aneki would appreciate it.”

“The Empress gave this to Nee-san, even though weapons are usually heirlooms reserved for male heirs.” Syuusuke turned the bow in his hand, examining the way light struck its intricate carvings. “She was pleased that Nee-san took to horseback riding and archery, not to mention sword and spear. I wonder if it wasn’t because she herself once longed to learn the same arts. Investing all her aspirations in Nee-san for a vicarious sense of fulfillment, perhaps.”

“Aniki.” Yuuta sighed very quietly. “That doesn’t mean Aneki has to spend her entire life fulfilling someone else’s expectations.” He reached out to steady Syuusuke’s hand, his warm palm curving around his brother’s cool knuckles. “Neither do you.” His eyes narrowed. “You do realize it, don't you? When Aneki left, it wasn't for that poet something or other.” Because he _had_ found the poet in question during the first year of his search for his sister. And he’d found the boy alone with an overly florid poem about his eternal heartbreak – and not even a shadow of his sister, who had long since left her lover and set out on her own.

“No,” Syuusuke admitted. “But Nee-san had other things she loved passionately, enough to leave everything else behind when she went seeking them. I do not. I’m sure Lady Yukimura is a perfectly lovely person. We’ll be fine together. Honestly, Yuuta, it would make no difference to me if I were married or not. I will continue to paint and practice archery and live as I please.”

“Aniki—”

“I know what you must be thinking,” Syuusuke interrupted gently. “I’ve never tried to stop you before, even when I disagreed. But this once, I must.” Surprise kept Yuuta silent. Syuusuke’s voice was firm. Not unkind, but all steel under the silk. Nothing like the gentle tone Yuuta was accustomed to hearing. “The Empress needs an alliance. She can use you in my place just as easily. And I cannot allow that.” Syuusuke’s voice gentled, but lost none of the resolve. “You have something truly precious, something you must protect at all costs. It’s the same thing I want to protect. This is my decision.”

Yuuta’s straightforward gaze was fixed on Syuusuke. “Your mind’s made up, then? To go through with it?”

Syuusuke nodded.

Yuuta inhaled, and then exhaled slowly. “And you won’t change your mind, either. Fine, then. In the end it’s your decision.” A firm nod, a formal acceptance, and Yuuta let go of his brother’s hand. “After your bride-to-be accepts, I will officially make my suit known.”

Syuusuke nodded once, lips curving. “Again – congratulations.”

“Thank you.” Yuuta knew his brother was referring to the basis of his courtship – mutual affection – rather than the likely success of his suit. “I can’t exactly wish you the same, but... My best wishes, regardless.”

_May you never have a reason to regret your decision_ , Yuuta prayed silently. _May it bring what happiness it can, to both of you._ Yet his prayers felt strangely hollow, full of premonition that everything would turn out exactly contrary to them.

_May it be._

~*~*~*~

“Aside from your rejected marriage proposal to my sister,” Tachibana started with a raised eyebrow, which earned him a dark glower. “What can I help you with?”

Tezuka shot him a withering look, but didn’t bother to argue. They’d known each other long enough that Tezuka understood if Tachibana wanted to be amused by the whole incident, he was damned well going to be. Tezuka would gain very little by protesting. Instead, Tezuka placed an arrow on the table between them. “Do you recognize the design of this arrow?”

“Archery was never my thing. But let me see.” Tachibana examined the simple round tip made of finest bronze, the intricate design carved on the shaft, and the distinctive blue feather of the fletching with focused attention. “Kingfisher. Unusual choice for fletching. Huh.” He turned the arrow in his hand, feeling the tensile strength of the wood. “Very fine quality, though. Especially for a practice arrow. I don’t recognize it. Where did you find it?”

“In the imperial garden.”

At Tezuka’s answer, Tachibana looked up from the arrow, surprise etched on his face. “The imperial garden? I didn’t know anyone practiced archery there anymore. The Emperor hasn’t touched his bow in years. Besides, the Emperor uses different fletching. Golden pheasant, I think. Anyway, while it’s quite unlike a master archer to lose his arrow, I doubt its owner would even think about searching for it. Why do you want to find him?” 

Before Tezuka could answer, a servant announced the arrival of the young Lady Tachibana, and Tezuka rose even as Tachibana tried to wave him back to his seat. The door opened to reveal An, who paused at the threshold. “Oh. I didn’t realize you two were talking. I’ll come back later.”

“It’s fine, An. Come join us. You might be able to help us.”

After a moment of hesitation, An came to join them at the table. “Tezuka-san,” she started, then stopped, biting her lip nervously. “About...about the gifts I’ve rejected...I was honored, truly, but—”

Tezuka inclined his head politely. “Please. Do not take it to heart.”

“What, you didn’t like the pair of geese? Those were beautiful carvings.” Tachibana’s eyes gleamed with suppressed laughter. Wooden carvings of wild geese, particularly in pairs, were typically given from the groom’s family to the bride’s as a symbolic declaration of intention to marry. They were also the reason An had so quickly and summarily rejected the rest of the gifts that arrived from Seishun earlier. An gave her brother a reproachful look, darting a glance at Tezuka before looking down. Although Tachibana was still amused, he was also watching her reactions closely. At his sister’s growing discomfort, he relented and added, “Your mother has exquisite tastes, Tezuka. You should thank her.”

An tilted her head with a puzzled frown, then her expression cleared. “Oh. Tezuka-san, you didn’t send me those gifts, did you?”

Tezuka’s expression never changed, but Tachibana thought he detected subtle hint of embarrassment in his manner. “I’m afraid my mother misconstrued my reason behind taking advantage of your hospitality.”

Tachibana laughed heartily. “An is about the only girl you talk to on a regular basis. I guess it’s understandable. Besides, you’re that age, aren’t you? My mother’s also incessant about marrying me off lately. And An, too. Speaking of which.” A sly grin widened on Tachibana’s lips. “Don’t take it personally that An immediately rejected those gifts. An has her reasons. Or should I say one tall, dark and handsome reason?”

“Onii-sama!!” An’s screech was colored with indignation and chagrin, which combined to fuel the hot flush spreading over her face.

Tachibana grinned at his sister’s reaction, unrepentant. “Oh, come on. You’ve known Tezuka since you were twelve. He’s practically another brother to you. You can tell him.” He turned to Tezuka with a conspiratorial grin. “That way, he can join me glowering at your suitor.”

“He’s not going to be scared off so easily.” An huffed, tossing her head. “He’s got more spine than that. Besides, I won’t let you pick on him.”

Tezuka inclined his head minutely in An’s direction, but directed his answer to Tachibana. “If Lady Tachibana intends to accept the suit, I don’t see the point of glowering, Tachibana.”

Tachibana shot him an unimpressed look. So much for help from that quarter. But he’d been An’s brother too long to give up so easily. “I won’t need to glower for a while, anyway. First he’s got to wait until his older brother starts properly courting at least. And who knows how long that will take?”

“Onii-sama, for the _last time!_ ” Color was rising in An’s cheeks again. “And it may only take a few months. So there!”

“Oh?” Under his sly tone, Tachibana was genuinely curious, since he knew the two young men in question. “How do you figure that? Does his older brother have a secret lady-love?”

An made a sound of disgust. “Of course not. But his marriage is currently being negotiated.”

“Ah.” Tachibana gentled his voice. “So that’s why your beau’s in a hurry lately. He doesn’t want to risk being married off right after his brother.” He looked at his sister, brotherly affection mingling with seriousness. “I don’t think anyone will have a reason to object to his suit if _you_ don’t, An.”

His sister smiled at him, mollified. “What do you need my help with, anyway? You never said.”

“Ah, I forgot. It’s this.” Tachibana handed the arrow over to his sister. “You’re into archery more than I am. Tezuka found this in the imperial garden, apparently. He wants to find the owner.”

An took the arrow, flipping it over to look at the fletching and the design on the shaft. “Kingfisher. Oh, wait, I know whose this is. Yuuta mentioned it a few times: his brother uses kingfisher feathers.”

“Ah.” Tachibana drummed his fingers on the table. “Fuji Syuusuke swept the archery contests the last few years and was honored with personalized arrows. That’s where I saw it before.” Then he raised one sardonic brow at Tezuka. “Oh, and by the way, since An already confessed: you lost out to Fuji Yuuta. Better keep that a secret or people will start wondering how you ever lost to such hatchling.”

“Tezuka-san?”

His sister’s tone arrested his attention, plus her conspicuous lack of protests, and Tachibana looked at Tezuka properly. “Oy, Tezuka, what’s the matter? You look pale.”

Tezuka remained silent and still as seconds ticked by. Finally, he stirred. “You’re sure the arrow belongs to Fuji.”

“I am,” An answered, her eye wide. “Yuuta said it often enough: egret for his sister, and kingfisher for his brother. And that the Empress wasn’t too happy with Fuji-san’s choice, since kingfisher is widely considered a commoners’ bird.”

“You said Fuji Syuusuke is to be married?” Tezuka’s voice was unchanged, but Tachibana was startled to note it was tightly controlled.

“Yes.” Her words came out haltingly, still struck by Tezuka’s strange reaction. “From what Yuuta said, it sounded like the matter would be concluded within the year, if not sooner.”

“I see.”

“Didn’t the Fuji brothers spend a few years in Seishun during their exile?” Tachibana’s thoughts had finally kicked into action, turning rapidly. The Fuji family had long been involved with Seishun’s court, although it lacked the standing Tezuka’s prestigious family had. And even in exile, the Empress would hardly have left her own nephews in any place less than Seishun’s capital. “So you must know each other.”

“We do.”

Tezuka was usually taciturn, but this was curt, even for him. Tachibana studied him for a moment, then decided against asking further. He’d known Tezuka for years, but he’d never seen Tezuka react like this before. Whatever was bothering him, pushing Tezuka now would yield little if any result. “I’m sure the younger Fuji will come by here again. An could return the arrow through him, if you want.”

“That won’t be necessary.” Tezuka’s eyes flickered to An for a brief moment. “But thank you.”

For the rest of the evening, no matter how hard both he and An tried, they couldn’t quite pull Tezuka out of the silent, pensive mood he’d sunken to. Finally, Tachibana gave up trying and shook his head when An looked to him in askance. When Tezuka took his leave an hour later, neither sibling made mention of the arrow Tezuka discreetly tucked in his belt before he bade them good night.

~*~*~*~

Harsh thwack sounded, accompanied by a fierce shout. A wooden practice sword shot through the air. The sword struck the wooden screens demarcating the practice arena with enough force to rattle the sturdy wood panels. Kamio cursed sharply; the errant projectile had missed him by scant inches. Picking up the cracked weapon with a muttered curse, he marched to the center of the practice arena.

The Falcon Squad’s main practice arena was littered with bodies of groaning trainees. Kamio surveyed the scene of carnage with one swift glance, then turned the full force of his glare at the only man standing. “What the hell, Kirihara?! You’re supposed to be training them, not beating them to a pulp!”

Kirihara looked distinctly unimpressed. And – to Kamio’s increasing annoyance – he hadn’t even broken a sweat after laying twenty opponents to waste. “Not my fault if they’re too weak to keep up.”

“Weak—” Kamio scrunched his eyes shut, pinching the bridge of his nose in an attempt to control his temper. “They are still in training. Look at them! Now they won’t be able to practice for days, maybe a whole week. What exactly is this going to do but destroy their confidence?”

The look of pure disgust Kirihara leveled in his direction made Kamio stiffen. “You think they’ll survive a real battle like this? They won’t last five minutes. They need to wake up and realize a sword isn’t a toy, it’s a goddamn weapon for battle. They’ll either learn it by heart or die trying. Otherwise, I guarantee you, they _will_ be dead as soon as they step out on a real battlefield.”

“If you continue to injure them in every training session, they damned well will be dead _before_ they ever get there!” Kamio snapped back, stung pride mixing with anger. True, Kirihara was already a veteran warrior who had participated in campaigns. But Kamio himself was a skilled swordsman and a worthy soldier. More importantly, as a trainer, he wasn’t going to allow Kirihara abuse the younger trainees. “This isn’t a training session. You’re just bullying them.”

Contempt entered Kirihara’s cool green eyes. “Oh? And are you sure it’s not just your injured pride talking?” A malicious smile curled his lips. “Face it. You’re soft. You’ve never been in a battle. The art of war isn’t a philosophy. It’s a struggle of life and death. It’s time you learned that.”

“Not having been in a battle doesn’t make one weak,” Kamio spat. “It sure as hell doesn’t make you any less of a bully.”

“Ho? Since when were you such a conscientious, protective little trainer?” Kirihara sneered, baring white, even teeth. “Or is this about the last tournament, when I thrashed your beloved Fudomine prince?”

Kamio froze. “You bastard!” he cried, charging before he was aware of what he was doing.

Harsh clang resounded throughout the arena. The trainees who were still able to move scrambled out of the way, only few of them plucky enough to help others as they retreated. Kamio stared at the bared steel of his blade locked with that of Kirihara, still reverberating with the force of his blow. A sudden blow to his midsection sent him back stumbling a few steps.

“Put that away.” Kirihara’s eyes glittered like green gems. “Don’t waste my time. Your blade has never tasted blood. You don’t have what it takes to beat me.”

Stunned shock was swiftly replaced by redoubled fury. “It will taste its first blood today,” Kamio promised, circling him.

Kirihara scoffed softly, but did not lower his guard. “No wonder these idiots turned out such rubbish under you.” His teeth flashed in an expression that was more a snarl than a grin, calculated malevolence entering his expression. “Then again, maybe I should blame Lord Tachibana for turning _you_ out the way you did: a loser.”

Kamio heard nothing over the roar of blood in his ears. He didn’t know when he leaped, but his blade met Kirihara’s over and over, in rapid, furious succession of blows. His sword moved without any direction from his mind, his body moving with instinct alone, his reason completely lost in rage. Then, the sword was knocked out of his hand, his entire arm going numb with the force of the blow. A swift blow to his throat made him stumble back a few steps and fall to the ground, and Kamio wheezed, desperately trying to draw breath through the sharp pain.

“You should have put it away when I told you do,” said a voice above him. And Kamio saw a glint of steel, descending—

A sharp twang rang in the air.

Kamio, still coughing and wheezing, saw Kirihara’s sword lying several feet away, pinned by a black throwing knife locked just above the sword guard. All the trainees still remaining on the training ground were looking fixedly in one direction, and so was Kirihara.

“Hey. Why don’t you teach me some art of war?”

Kamio turned to the direction of the voice, which sounded vaguely familiar. “Echizen?” he gasped, stunned.

“It’ll be a costly lesson to you,” Kirihara promised. “You a friend of this loser’s?”

Echizen shrugged. “Don’t know him. Are we doing this or not?”

Kamio sputtered. Or would have if he had the breath to waste. Echizen didn’t even spare him a glance, standing carelessly at the center of the practice arena while Kirihara went and retrieved his sword. A flick of Kirihara’s wrist sent the throwing knife flying back to the owner, but Echizen caught it midair with an almost bored air. Kirihara’s mouth twisted, then he walked back to stand a few paces away from Echizen. “You sure you don’t want to use a practice sword?”

Echizen had his own sword out already, the blade resting casually on his shoulder. “We can switch if you’re scared,” he drawled.

“Ha!” Kirihara held his sword at the ready. “Let’s see if your sword is as fast as your mouth.”


	7. Book II: Awakening Dragon – Chapter 07

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **HIATUS ALERT HIATUS ALERT HIATUS ALERT HIATUS ALERT HIATUS ALERT HIATUS ALERT HIATUS ALERT**
> 
>   
> **_Et Cetera_ ** is way, _way_ past due for an overhaul. I tried, but I don't think I can focus on all three stories at the same time. So in the interest of finishing Cetera this year, I'm putting _**Sea of Hidden Dragon** _ AND _**Bloodstone** _ on hold. In fact _**Bloodstone** _ might have to be put on hold longest because there are still some kinks in that story I haven't worked out yet. _**Sea of Hidden Dragon** _ is -- either going to work (mostly) as-is or it won't. I don't think I can fix it in any significant way. :x We'll see. Maybe I'll change my mind in the future. So for now, all projects except _**Et Cetera** _ are on hiatus. Sorry about that. :(
> 
> And as always -- to everyone reading or following my stories, thank you eternally for your patience and kindness. ♥

 

**SEA OF HIDDEN DRAGON**

와룡장해 :: 臥龍藏海

_by **Shiraume**_

[11/2012 & 11/2013]

**BOOK II: AWAKENING DRAGON**

[03/29/2015 Version]

_Chapter 07_

“General Sanada!”

Yanagi paused mid-sentence. Sanada frowned at the door, then called sharply. “Enter.”

The door flung open, and a soldier rushed inside. “General Sanada. Lord Yanagi. Lord Kuwabara sends word: Lord Kirihara’s eyes have turned red. He bids you to the Falcon Squad’s main practice arena in all haste.”

Before the soldier finished speaking Sanada was out of his seat, stalking towards the door. Yanagi hastily rose and followed.

The Falcon Squad’s main building and practice arena, located in the far eastern end of the complex which housed the Department of Defense, were less than five minutes’ walk from Sanada’s office. When the two of them arrived at the practice arena, Yanagi watched storm clouds gather over Sanada’s brows as he noticed the flash of live steel against steel. Against an opponent barely of age, no more than fifteen or sixteen at best, Rikkai yellow against Seishun blue. Suddenly Sanada’s brows cleared. From behind him, Yanagi finally noticed what was happening in the actual match and sucked in a short breath.

Kirihara blocked first the sheath in his opponent’s left hand and the sword in his right, then danced farther to the left, leaned his weight hard, striking at the other’s sword hand. The boy’s sheath suddenly snaked out at an impossible speed, knocking Kirihara’s hand away. The sword flew in a wide arc and crashed somewhere behind him. The boy’s sword was resting against Kirihara’s neck.

“He’s left-handed.” Yanagi murmured. Kirihara, looking paralyzed with more shock than fear, gave no sign he saw or heard anything. “It’s impossible to strike with that speed and force with non-dominant hand.”

Sanada did not reply. “Nittou-ryu,” he said suddenly. “Tezuka.”

“My win,” the boy said blithely, sounding bored, annoyingly unmindful of the spectators.

Yanagi frowned and stepped between the two contestants. “Enough.”

“Yanagi-san.” Kirihara’s eyes – clear now – snapped to Yanagi, then to Sanada, a spark of horror stealing over his face. “Vice-Commander, I—”

“You lost.” Sanada’s voice was low, almost devoid of emotion. Nonetheless, Kirihara reeled as if from a physical blow. A thin line of red appeared on the side of Kirihara’s neck, and the boy belatedly lowered his sword, a brief look of disconcertment passing over his face. “It is not permitted for Rikkai to lose. Not even a spar.”

“If _you_ want to have a go in his place, I don’t mind,” said the boy.

There was a collective gasp from the recruits, including the instructor, Kamio Akira, who openly gaped at him. Either he did not know who Sanada was, or else the boy was mad. Kirihara, whose attention snapped back to his opponent, stared at him in speechless astonishment.

Sanada’s attention flickered over to the boy. But scarce seconds later, the stern, unyielding gaze moved on dismissively and speared his other subordinate who stood behind Kirihara. “You were supposed to be keeping an eye on things, Kuwabara.”

Kuwabara grimaced. “My apologies, General Sanada.”

“It wasn’t Kuwabara-senpai’s fault. He was called away, and I was the one who...” Kirihara trailed off and shrank under the full force of Sanada’s glare.

“Hey,” the boy called, sounding miffed. Yanagi arched a brow. Apparently he wasn’t used to being ignored any more than Sanada himself was at not being feared.

“We’ll talk in private,” Sanada promised both Kuwabara and Kirihara, as if he didn’t hear. As he turned to go, Sanada gave the boy a sideway glance, and said, “Tell Tezuka our score isn’t settled yet.”

Without another word Sanada swept away, leaving his team scrambling to catch up with him.

 

~*~*~*~

Sanada did not look up when the door opened and closed softly. He was sitting perfectly still at the center of the training hall, eyes closed, his sheathed sword next to him. His legs were folded and feet tucked underneath in the traditional seiza position, with a posture perfected over a lifetime.

He was aware Yukimura was watching, leaning on the door. But Yukimura waited patiently until Sanada finished his meditation and opened his eyes. “I heard what happened earlier. From Renji.”

Sanada did not immediately acknowledge his presence. Ceremoniously, he reached for his sword and rose to his feet. He then proceeded to the altar where other swords were displayed, and carefully laid his down on one of the display racks. Finally, Sanada straightened, breathed deeply, then turned to face Yukimura. “Kirihara has been reprimanded.”

“I know. That’s not what I wanted to talk about.”

“The boy, then.”

“The boy,” Yukimura agreed, padding across the hall to join Sanada, the black outer robe draped over his shoulders rustling with every step. “You mentioned Tezuka?”

“He’s from Seishun. The nittou-ryu has been a Tezuka clan specialty for generations.” Nittou-ryu used two blades or blade and sheath at the same time and demanded equal dexterity of both hands, which was difficult to attain, and so the style wasn’t widely practiced. Tezuka clan had a fair number of left-handed warriors, however, and nittou-ryu was something of a clan tradition. Although Tezuka Kunikazu, one of the Shitennou, was best known for his glaive, he too was a master of nittou-ryu, as was his grandson.

Yukimura shook his head. “The Tezuka clan isn’t the only one to use nittou-ryu. I don’t think he learned it from Tezuka.” Sanada interrogated him with a look, and Yukimura shrugged. “The boy’s name is _Echizen_ Ryoma,” Yukimura replied, and said no further.

He didn’t need to. Everyone in their generation had grown up with the story of Echizen Nanjirou the Samurai, the most celebrated master of nittou-ryu. The Samurai had one of the most distinguished military careers in the empire’s history. Debuted in the imperial martial arts competition at an unprecedented age of thirteen, he dominated the competitions for ten consecutive years, won victory after victory. As the crowning achievement the Samurai had led the imperial army to victory in one of the most difficult and bloody campaigns in recent history, one which had added two new dominions to the empire. For his deeds, Echizen Nanjirou had earned a permanent place in history with three other legendary warriors of the empire, referred together as the Shitennou.

Afterward, at the pinnacle of his illustrious career, Echizen Nanjirou suddenly resigned from his position as the High General and retired to obscurity. Some called him a fool; the Emperor had all but given an official edict to name him the Minister of Left, or – if the rumors were to be believed – a guaranteed succession to replace the aged Prime Minister. Others called him a true hero who walked away after saving the empire rather than using his brilliant victories to gain political influence. But none disputed the Samurai’s legacy.

“The Samurai’s son?”

“Seems like,” Yukimura answered. “You recall the Samurai was fostered at Seishun’s court for a few years in his youth. While I doubt Tezuka was the boy’s master, it’s likely that Tezuka did have a hand in his training.”

“How old?”

“Sixteen.”

Sanada inhaled audibly. Three years younger than their Kirihara, yet the boy had bested Rikkai’s young ace. “He lives up to his father’s legacy, then.”

“He didn’t use to. Renji dug up some intel for me. His mother is the Lady Takeuchi – Rinko is her name – from Seishun. Seems that’s where Echizen Nanjirou spends his retirement when he’s not wandering the countryside. But the main reason we never heard about his son is because the boy _didn’t_ live up to his father’s expectations, not one bit. The boy showed a lot of promise and was trained since he could barely walk, but didn’t take to swordsmanship at all. The father was insistent, but the more he persisted, the more the boy rebelled. Then, three years ago, Echizen Nanjirou left his son in Seishun under Ryuuzaki Sumire’s mentorship. Tezuka was in charge of training the recruits by then, so naturally took the boy under his tutelage.”

The mention of the name Ryuuzaki brought a fleeting frown to Sanada’s face. True, women practicing martial arts alongside men were no longer such a rarity. But it was extremely uncommon for a woman to dedicate her entire _life_ to their study, especially in the upper class. Lady Ryuuzaki Sumire was one of those few. Even now, it was considered a testament to Seishun’s libertarian eccentricity that she commanded substantial respect in its court.

“Inconsistent training – unconventional at best. No prior records to speak of. And yet _this_ is what Tezuka managed with the boy in just three years. Combining this fact to the legend of the Shitennou, not one but two...it’s like pouring oil on a flame.” Yukimura’s voice was cold, but the measured inflection lent greater resonance and ringing clarity to his intonation. The result was striking. “Each time I learn more about Tezuka, another fresh source of concern arises.”

Which also meant Yukimura liked him better and better. Yukimura was rather unique in that he liked his friends, but liked his chosen rivals even better – the sole exception being Atobe.

“It’s strange.”

“What?” Sanada detected the contemplative tone, and wondered if Yukimura was already planning a preemptive strike, just to gauge Tezuka’s reaction. He wouldn’t be adverse to it, personally, but it wasn’t the kind of distraction they could afford. Not when they had their hands full keeping a close and constant watch over the northern border.

“It’s a bit like...well. I’ve always wondered what it would be like if you and I had ended up on different sides. Have you ever wondered?”

Sanada didn’t have to think about his answer. “No.”

“Pointless to linger on what-if?” Yukimura supplied. Sanada did not bother acknowledging the truth of it. “Don’t get me wrong. I like things the way they are, with both you and Renji, but...”

Like a second nature, Sanada knew what Yukimura was thinking. Yukimura was first and foremost a talented warrior who loved nothing better than meeting strong opponents to test himself. The battle – the sincerest and bitterest struggle of life and death – defined and governed every aspect of Yukimura’s life. For him, triumph was not as prized as the conflict itself. And Yukimura was hardly the kind of person who would be satisfied with status quo, always seeking fresher, tougher challenges than the one he’d just conquered. Of all the people Yukimura met, Sanada had been the strongest. Although their contest, both their first and ever after, had been every bit as real as on a battlefield, something had always lingered unresolved between them. Because the inescapable fact was that they were allies, and could never engage in a true fight to the end.

“...I cannot help but wonder, Genichirou. If we could choose what side to be born to, would this have been our choice still? For all of us?”

Choice. Rikkai and Yukimura. Everything that came with the two. “Perhaps not all.” The next part didn’t require as much thinking as the first. “My choice would have been the same.”

A slow smile spread over Yukimura’s lips. “Ah.”

“And you?”

Yukimura wasn’t the only one who blinked at the unexpectedness of the question. Sanada hadn’t meant to voice it at all. Hadn’t wanted to probe at a painful memory. Yukimura’s smile returned, but it was a smaller, more restrained one. “You mean if I hadn’t fallen sick.”

Yukimura’s meteoric rise was well known and highly documented. However, few knew why Yukimura made such a late debut into the military scene – at the age of eighteen. In the empire, young noblemen typically entered military service at fifteen as a recruit for the Falcon Squad, a branch of armed forces reserved solely for noble-born youths. The average length of service in the Falcon Squad was three years, during which recruits learned the finer points of martial arts, strategy and planning, the kind of lessons they would need should they continue in the military. Yukimura had entered the Squad at an unusually late age and graduated to lieutenancy in little over a year, then rose to the rank of a general in less than three. For the last few years Yukimura had also served as the commander of the Falcon Squad, which was a high honor, but more importantly, afforded him significant influence since half the commanders in the Department of Defense was drawn from Falcon Squad graduates.

However, hidden behind the triumph was a bitter struggle with debilitating sickness Yukimura endured for two long years. The disease had started with tingles and loss of feelings in the extremities, then quickly progressed to a paralysis of the limbs, then the entire body. A sickness that was very little known and poorly studied, the physicians said, with no actual cure and uncertain prognosis. At the height of Yukimura’s illness, the physicians had predicted he would never walk again. Yukimura had battled his way through regardless. Two years since the sudden onset of symptoms, he had recovered the use of his limbs. Nevertheless, he had to spend another two to retrain and recondition his body weakened from the prolonged period spent in sickbed.

It was a testament to Yukimura’s courage and sheer stubbornness that he managed to do just that. But unlike his service record, his illness was known to very few, understandable though it was. Yukimura’s father was the clan head and had no other issue save Yukimura and his younger sister. In militant-minded Rikkai, a crippled male heir would have been just as disastrous as a female heir. While a female heir wasn’t unheard of, it left a sticky problem as the children normally took the husband’s surname unless he ceded his to join the wife’s clan instead. Lady Yukimura would have had to marry below her station to find a husband willing to give up his own clan affiliation in favor of hers. It was small wonder the Yukimura clan concealed the illness. Even if Yukimura himself could never forget. Couldn’t help but be up an hour before dawn every day because the symptoms used to come during early morning hours. Even now, from time to time Yukimura chafed his hands as if to reassure himself their sense of touch, the motion subtle and hidden under his long sleeves.

Sanada knew it wasn’t a weakness for Yukimura, but merely the backdrop for Yukimura’s fierce refusal to admit any sort of weakness. Understandable, since Yukimura must have had enough of being weak to last him a lifetime. But that kind of relentless drive should have exhausted anyone, no matter how strong. Anyone, that was, except Yukimura.

“I don’t know. I’ve always wanted to be the best, so I think Rikkai would still have been my choice.” A soft laugh, and Yukimura pulled at his outer robe, tugging it around his shoulder more securely. “You know, only you and I would even consider this a matter of choice. For most, one’s dominion is as immutable as one’s clan affiliation. It’s something one is born to, not choose.”

“Rikkai isn’t like that.” It wasn’t. Kuwabara’s family had moved to Rikkai only a generation ago, and wasn’t even originally from the empire at all. Yanagi’s family was originally from another dominion as well, and had moved because of a political dispute; in fact, Yanagi had resided briefly at Seishun’s capital at an early age, something Yanagi didn’t like talking about much.

“No.” Yukimura’s eyes were thoughtful. “Dominion loyalty rarely prevents individual clan alliances, anyway. Or the current political situation would be tidier. Though you wouldn’t, would you, Genichirou?”

Sanada looked at him closely, a crease between his brows. “Meaning what?”

“To you, choosing me was simply an aftereffect of choosing Rikkai.” Yukimura sounded tranquil, but wasn’t looking at Sanada. “To me...choosing you, any of you, had nothing to do with Rikkai. It’s simply that you are the best, and so I wanted you. Rikkai happened to coincide with that.”

Sanada considered for a moment. True, the Sanada clan had always been staunchly loyal to Rikkai’s interests, and promoted them above even its own. But he, too, was a warrior to the core, and knew exactly what Yukimura meant. He had also been attracted to the cadre of individuals who formed their core team, each with strength and brilliance of talent unparalleled throughout the empire. Likely, he would have been attracted even if they hadn’t all been members of Rikkai’s court. But Yukimura was a slightly different matter altogether.

“No,” Sanada said, voice low but firm. “I choose Rikkai first. But other choices were never a part of that decision.”

“Our team?” A hint of teasing entered Yukimura’s voice.

“And the team. And Renji.” Sanada’s tone made it clear he saw what Yukimura was doing, and didn’t find it impressive.

“You never said.”

It wasn’t a complaint, Sanada knew. “I didn’t think it necessary to say what you already knew.”

“Ah.” The pause was shorter this time. “I didn’t. Though, I suppose if you had before, I might not have been able to give you the answer – or the trust – you deserve.”

“Do you think I am someone who can love out of pity?” Sanada demanded.

Yukimura smiled ruefully and shook his head. “No, you’re too honorable for that.”

“Too selfish,” Sanada corrected him. “You’re the one who told me true strength comes from knowing the bitterness of defeat.”

Yukimura’s silence held a quiet sort of surprise this time. “I did. I didn’t expect you to use it on me.” The rueful smile returned. “I’ve developed a habit of underestimating those nearest and dearest to me. I should rectify this immediately.”

“Yes.” Sanada was nothing if not frank. They had never shied from criticizing each other, if carefully kept between just the two of them. The latest being the matter of Lady Yukimura: Sanada might agree Lady Yukimura’s last suitor had been unworthy of her hand or her heart, but it didn’t mean he approved of Yukimura’s high-handed handling of the said suitor.

Yukimura’s laughter was short-lived, but sincere. But this was Yukimura, and Yukimura didn’t have much in terms of hesitation or self-consciousness once his mind was made up. So Yukimura stepped closer, and kissed Sanada.

Although Sanada automatically kissed him back, he pulled away quickly. “What’s wrong?” Yukimura asked, eyes only half open. His eyelashes cast a soft shadow over the usually sharp heather grey eyes, and Sanada’s hand rose to his cheek in automation, thumb tracing a cheekbone.

“We’re in the training hall,” he reminded Yukimura.

Meaning he felt uncomfortable in this place all of Rikkai held sacred. To them the training hall was a holy place, kept with a respect bordering on reverence. Generations of Rikkai’s nobles had trained in the very same room, here in the imperial capital as often as Rikkai’s own capital. Some of the most revered members of the Rikkai’s military had their wooden name tablets displayed on the altar. Being inside the training hall was very nearly like being inside a family shrine, in the presence of their ancestors who had dedicated their whole life to Rikkai, and to the empire.

“Ah. Our honorable ancestors, who watch over Rikkai and the empire.” Yukimura knew as well as Sanada that among the names displayed were Sanada’s great-great-grandfather and grandfather. A number of Yukimura’s ancestors also had a place at the altar. “But you don’t belong to them, Genichirou.” Though Yukimura’s lips curved, the expression wasn’t so much a smile as a challenge. “You chose _me_.”

“Your installation ceremony is tomorrow.” Sanada was stalling for time, but it was also a legitimate point. Yukimura tipped his head back to regard him gravely.

“I will be officially proclaimed the Lord of Rikkai tomorrow.” Yukimura raised his hand to cup Sanada’s hand resting on his cheek. “Tonight is the last time I am simply Yukimura Seiichi, Genichirou.”

This time, Sanada kissed him without hesitation, pulling Yukimura close with both arms wrapped around him. Yukimura kissed him back with equal fervor, nipping lightly at Sanada’s lip as they parted. “This would be,” Sanada breathed, voice rough, “much easier with a bed.”

Yukimura was rocking against him slowly, their bodies pressed tightly together. When he managed to speak, it was in a breathless whisper. “Since when did you and I care for the easy way to anything?”

That was a good point. Sanada kissed him again in lieu of an answer, fingers tangling in Yukimura’s soft curls.

There was no more need for words between them after that. The wooden floor was hard, Yukimura’s outer robe hardly an adequate choice for makeshift bedding. But Yukimura’s body was warm, quickening to his touch. Sanada fought down an odd sensation of disorientation in the back of his mind. He was accustomed to Yukimura who never gave ground to anyone. The way Yukimura’s body yielded, pliant in a way Yukimura himself never was – it was too new. Made him uncertain. But then Yukimura was reaching for him, touching his damp, bare skin with an unspoken but clear demand. And that, at least, was a familiar ground, of demanding and being demanded everything they could give each other.

Sanada kissed him again, not allowing his thoughts crowd his mind. This moment was for them. Tomorrow would be different, would change rules between them yet again. But tonight was something he could take for himself. Yukimura’s hands were running along his flank and arms, settling on his shoulders to pull him down, and Sanada met him halfway. Breathed in the fragrance of warm skin and heady perfume of desire. And the rest was as easy as that.

Yukimura let out a gasp, which he stifled by kissing Sanada deeply before letting go. His brows were knitted, not in pain but in concentration, trying to find a way to make their bodies fit more comfortably on the unaccommodating surface. They settled into a secure position, and then the rhythm that guided them was as old as time.

Sanada struggled to keep his eyes open, to watch Yukimura. Yukimura’s face held a rare, utterly open expression, mixed wonder and happiness, completely absorbed in his own senses. No schooled mask of calm, no controlled gaze. Completely himself. A slight frown creased Yukimura’s brows, mouth open and forming soundless, shapeless words. He was beautiful.

And then it was heat and rush of sensations that overwhelmed the mind, heated gasps and quiet groans in each other’s ears. Sanada opened his eyes again just in time to see Yukimura’s close in an expression that was impossible to describe. Then Yukimura’s body tightened around his, locked in quick spasms, and Sanada let his eyes fall closed and let go.

When Sanada opened his eyes again, Yukimura’s eyes were still closed, his expression peaceful. With surprising gentleness he kissed Yukimura’s brow, and watched Yukimura’s eyes flutter open sleepily. Both his elbows and his knees were aching, and he suspected Yukimura’s back must be hurting, if not bruised. But Yukimura merely raised his head to kiss him, warm and lingering, tongue moving with a lazy sort of playfulness. It was only with reluctance that Sanada disengaged from him, noting a brief spasm pass over Yukimura’s face. Not pain – he was sure of it, and Yukimura smiled up at him with a reassuring nod. Not quite discomfort then, but something unexpected, perhaps. Sanada traced Yukimura’s forehead with a hand as if chasing after the expression, to catch and hold it with all the rest he hoarded with a collector’s greed.

“You were right,” Yukimura whispered, and it took Sanada a moment to register the words.

“About?”

“This would have been much easier with a bed.” There was laughter threaded in Yukimura’s voice. “But...never too late to start, as they say.”

Sanada couldn’t help a short laugh. “Your back?” he asked, rising to his feet and offering a hand.

Yukimura took his hand and pulled himself to his feet. “I’ll live. Your room or mine?”

With anyone else, the blasé question would have made him raise an eyebrow. But here was an actual question, not a veiled suggestion, and Sanada doubted he’d get so many concessions from Yukimura again in one night, if ever. “Mine,” he replied, dressing himself just enough to not embarrass himself should they run into anyone on the way. Yukimura nodded, pulling on his robe carelessly, but draped his outer robe on his arm rather than putting it back on. Sanada quirked a brow in wordless inquiry, to which Yukimura shook his head, and turned to lead the way.

Holding back a small smile of mirth, Sanada followed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I call it a glaive because that's the closest equivalent, but the actual weapon I had in mind for Tezuka Kunikazu is a Guandao, or a Yanyuedao ("leaning crescent blade"). In the _Romance of Three Kingdoms_ , the legendary general Guan Yu supposedly used such a weapon. FYI the four Shitennou in _**Sea of Hidden Dragon**_ each won renown with different weapons: Prince Shotoku with a bow, Tezuka Kunizaku with a glaive, Sanada Gen'emon with a spear, and Echizen Nanjirou with a sword (nittou-ryu). 
> 
> Basically Falcon Squad is like a youth military academy, but only for nobles. It's not a requirement, per se, but without it one would be hard-pressed to advance through the military ranks. Nonetheless it's not uncommon for those of imperial blood (like Atobe and Fuji brothers) to skip Falcon Squad entirely. Historically, the ancient Kingdom of Shilla (or Shinra) in Korea had a system called Hwarang (literally "flower youth"), a group of young nobles chosen to learn art of war and other things, which the Falcon Squad is loosely based on.
> 
> Sorry about the infodump in this chapter. I tried, I really did, but there's just no way I could revise it better short of having professional editing help and a lot more time. Sorry, y'all. :(
> 
> Next chapter, when it comes, will return to the actual main couple of this story. XD Who has yet to meet face to face in the present timeline. Erm.
> 
> Yeah, I am terrible and boring. Mea culpa. XD
> 
>  **[ETA 4/2/2015:]** I’ve been meaning to add this. The Sanada/Yukimura scene at the end is what I privately called “the dojo smut,” which was an old idea from [Phoenicia](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Phoenicia/pseuds/Phoenicia). I didn’t quite do the idea justice, but at least I should give credit where it’s due, especially when she graciously gave me her permission to use it. Thank you, [Phoenicia](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Phoenicia/pseuds/Phoenicia)!


	8. Book II: Awakening Dragon – Chapter 08

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, so the hiatus. It’s still on. It’s just, April 18 was the anniversary of first posting _**Sea of Hidden Dragon**_ and I figured I shouldn’t miss that. By more than a few days anyway. So yes, after this, hiatus for real. Sorry, y’all, for being (unintentionally) misleading.
> 
> Quick warning for the future. Chapters 9 & 10 are what I consider THE problem part in this story. It’s basically two chapters of Tezuka/Fuji flashback. Smack in the middle of the story, other plotlines be damned. It was either that or put it as a side story, and after _**Et Cetera**_ I swore OFF doing backstories and side stories EVER AGAIN. Seriously, no one would ever know Tezuka/Fuji is and always has been my main couple, the way I treat them in my stories.
> 
> Would it make it better or worse that I am writing Tezuka/Fuji-only story, but it’s set in A/B/O alternate universe? For those of you who aren’t familiar with omega-verse, please look up [the handy dandy primer](http://archiveofourown.org/works/403644/chapters/665489) written by [norabombay](http://archiveofourown.org/users/norabombay/pseuds/norabombay) on AO3 while I run away. :P
> 
> Okay, so without further ado: Chapter 8!

**SEA OF HIDDEN DRAGON**

와룡장해 :: 臥龍藏海

_by **Shiraume**_

[11/2012 & 11/2013]

**BOOK II: AWAKENING DRAGON**  


[04/21/2015 Version]

_Chapter 08_

Shiraishi waited to be announced with uncharacteristic impatience. His request for urgency must have been honored, since an attendant soon entered to conduct him to the drawing room. Once he was seated, it was only minutes before Atobe himself entered.

“Young Lord Shiraishi,” Atobe called in greeting, which Shiraishi rose to receive. “This is unusual, for you to visit me at my home.”

“Young Lord Atobe. I hope you don’t mind me visiting without a word in advance, especially so late in the evening.” No matter how much hurry he was in, it would never do to neglect small courtesies with Atobe, who was scrupulous about observing every court etiquette – if not from Atobe himself, at least for others in deference to him.

“Not at all. Please,” Atobe gestured to a chair, and came to join him, pouring them both a cup of tea each. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

Shiraishi accepted the tea with automatic thanks, but did not wait any longer than the requisite courtesy of his first sip to start. “I assume you’ve heard about the announcement Lord Yamato made.”

“Ah.” Atobe took his time, sipping the tea with the air of a connoisseur about him. Shiraishi had no choice but to sip his own tea, and...well, the tea _was_ very fragrant. He would have to offer his compliments later. In the meantime, he cradled his teacup to keep his hands from fidgeting and betraying his impatience. “If you mean naming Tezuka Kunimitsu as his successor, I cannot imagine it came as a surprise,” Atobe finally said, lowering his cup.

“No, but the timing was. I expected at least a year, maybe more before Lord Yamato made his intentions public.” Shiraishi pressed, knowing that out of the whole court Atobe had the most opportunity to interact with – and observe – the Emperor, and perhaps the Empress as well. “Did Lord Yamato visit the imperial palace lately?”

“Not to my knowledge. But I would hardly know all comings and goings in the palace.” In someone else, those words would have been false modesty. In Atobe, it was simple dismissal of an inconsequential fact.

“Atobe,” Shiraishi started, then hesitated. They were longtime acquaintances, but they weren’t exactly friends. And Atobe, while maintaining a blazingly public profile, revealed little of his private thoughts and feeling with an artful finesse that even the most seasoned courtier had to admire. In order to receive any sort of honesty, Shiraishi had a feeling he would need to be frank. Placing his teacup on the table, he opted for the most direct approach. “I have no taste for playing the Emperor’s game, or the Empress’s. But I cannot remain separate, short of separating myself from the court. And neither can my friends.” The choice of word “friends” was deliberate. He wasn’t talking about his political associates, but those who mattered to him, mostly from Shitenhouji. “This puts Tezuka in the front and center, and potentially, poses him as a new player in the game between the Emperor and the Empress. Is that Lord Yamato’s doing?”

Atobe examined him with a perfectly blank face for so long, Shiraishi nearly regretted being so upfront. The next moment, however, Atobe surprised him with a small quirk of his mouth. “I doubt it. If Yamato’s playing, likely it’s Tezuka and not the imperial family he’s toying with.”

“But why?”

“Knowing Yamato, for Seishun. I suppose Tezuka might actually have turned him down. Or, at least, taking too long to give Yamato the answer he wants.”

Shiraishi considered it. “But there aren’t any other candidates.” He leaned on his left hand – kept bandaged, with reasons known only to himself and his sister – with a thoughtful expression on his face. “What is he like, this Tezuka? I’ve heard rumors, but so far he’s been keeping to himself.”

Atobe gave a small shrug. “If you’re asking about personal information, you’re likely more informed on that account than I am, given Tezuka’s acquaintance with Tachibana and yours with Chitose. If you’re asking for the more general information, the word is that Tezuka Kunimitsu is a warrior to be reckoned with, veritable second coming of the Shitennou, if you believe the rumors. Impeccable service records, and a spotless reputation among his subordinates and superiors alike. So far he hasn’t shown any inclination for politics. And if his grandfather can serve as a model, he won’t show any in the future.”

“So you think the Emperor is wasting his time.” It had gone hardly unnoticed by the rest of the court how the Emperor conferred one honor after another on Tezuka, though Tezuka accepted nothing save those on behalf of his men. The Empress had been equally gracious, but her overtures were more of a wary nature, probing rather than actively courting.

Atobe was quiet for a long moment. “I don’t know. I haven’t had an opportunity to observe Tezuka more closely, but he strikes me as a rather different type. Cut from a similar cloth as Yamato, maybe, but not the same. And the Emperor has lost none of his wiles over the years. Nor has age dimmed his perception. So far, he’s been testing Tezuka more than enticing him, but the Emperor may yet strike home. Every man has a price, even if the price is honor or loyalty. Just because a man is upright, it doesn’t mean he cannot be bought.”

“And you?” Shiraishi met Atobe’s eyes squarely, intent on communicating – and receiving – honesty for honesty. “I’ve already said I will remain neutral in this, as much as I can. But the real one the Emperor is trying to recruit is you.”

“If you feel that way, why come to me at all?” Atobe’s tone was infuriatingly calm and bland, no indication of his true feelings whatsoever.

“Because I have no choice,” Shiraishi admitted truthfully. “And because I don’t intend to keep my position a secret while I try to ascertain yours.”

A ring of clear laughter answered him. Atobe looked at him with a smirk, but roguish though it was, it wasn’t an unfriendly one. “I see. You live up to your reputation, Shiraishi.”

“Give and take, Atobe. I never ask for anything for nothing.” Shiraishi kept his answers frank, but also closely watched Atobe. Ostensibly, Atobe’s moods seemed mercurial, changing like the shapes in a kaleidoscope. But instinct told him none of those shifting mirages were true reflections of what lay underneath. Shiraishi wasn’t a flashy individual by nature, especially for one hailing from Shitenhouji, which had its share of brilliance and eccentricity in equal measures. The court of Shitenhouji was comprised of the most diversely talented individuals in the empire, any of whom should have eclipsed him. However, his instinct for both people and situations was second to none. He was known for his ability to read and react to any situation and any individual with precision bordering on perfection. And his instinct now told him he would get nowhere playing head games with Atobe. Rather, candor and straightforwardness would serve him best. If nothing else, it would keep Atobe away from his more familiar ground of layered illusions.

“Very well. I will answer you in kind, then.” Atobe took a long sip of his tea, then put down his cup on the table with a soft clink. “You ask where I stand in the imperial succession. I stand for neither the Emperor nor the Empress. It matters little to me who sits on the throne. I am Atobe Keigo, the next Lord of Hyoutei. My family and dominion have produced numerous imperial consorts and regents, and have always been the caretakers of the empire. And so will we remain.”

Shiraishi took a moment to finish his tea while digesting the information. No matter how he sliced it, the news was a reassuring one. One of the most powerful dominions within the empire would remain neutral in the conflict over imperial succession, and in fact, would readily step in to alleviate the tension. Or – Shiraishi corrected himself – at least, keep the forces balanced. Which left just Rikkai and Seishun on the table.

“Hyoutei and Shitenhouji will remain neutral, then.” Shiraishi met Atobe’s eyes squarely. “Will Rikkai and Seishun do the same?”

“Seishun may,” Atobe acknowledged. “Rikkai – not while Yukimura remains at its head.”

Shiraishi had nearly forgotten Yukimura’s installation was tomorrow. He didn’t doubt half the imperial court had likewise forgotten, so preoccupied as they were with Yamato’s sudden announcement of his intention to retire, and formal nomination of Tezuka as the next Lord of Seishun. Yamato had chosen his day poorly – or perhaps exceptionally craftily – to time it so. “With Seishun, there’s still time before any real change takes place. But Yukimura will come to his official power tomorrow.”

Atobe scoffed. “He will come to official title tomorrow. The power he possessed for years.” His tone sobered, turned grave over the next words. “Yukimura is dangerous.”

“He has the necessary pull within the court as well as the military,” Shiraishi agreed. “If he cements his alliance with the Empress, he could very well engineer the succession in her favor, and in doing so, rise to an unparalleled height of influence.”

“Possibly. But that’s simply ambition. Any man may possess ambition. Yukimura is dangerous not because of his ambition, but his conviction.”

“That being?” Shiraishi was genuinely curious. Atobe’s insight was famous, especially because he always happened to be right. No one could read an opponent, detect weaknesses, and exploit that insight quite like Atobe could.

“Yukimura,” Atobe pronounced the name like an attack, “firmly believes power belongs to those who are strong enough to seize it for themselves. His strength is beyond questioning, as you well know. Which means he sees power not only as his right, but his destiny.” His voice turned quieter, more contemplative, and Shiraishi thought he could hear hints of real concern flickering in Atobe’s words. “I do not fear or condemn men’s ambition, or their quest for power. But in Yukimura, I see ambition driven by a ruthless will. Power, wielded with an unyielding strength. His followers, powerful in their own right, give wings to the ascending dragon and bear him aloft.”

As the crown was the symbol of the Emperor, the throne was the symbol of ultimate power. But a symbol of power wasn’t the power itself. No matter who wore the dragon robes and sat on the throne years from now, true power would rest in the hands of one who was successful in his ambition.

“The empire already teeters on the edge of a knife. Before the ink is even dry on the peace treaty, I already hear troubling rumors of another war,” Shiraishi said slowly, looking down at his teacup. “Neither of us can challenge Yukimura without breaking the delicate balance that keeps the fragile peace in the empire.”

“Not yet.” Atobe bared his teeth, but the feral expression turned it more into a snarl than a grin. “But as soon as something tips the balance, rest assured – _I will_.”

Shiraishi’s lips quirked ruefully. After all, Atobe wasn’t in this out of altruism. He understood it. He, too, was a lord, and like or not, he stood for his clan and his dominion. Advancing his dominion’s interest, his clan’s interest, and his own – they went hand in hand with his loyalty to the empire. While there was no love lost between Atobe and Yukimura, for Atobe, cultivating his own power, checking Yukimura’s influence and protecting peace and balance within the empire happened to coincide; personal animosities and private scores existed, but contributed little to the overall scheme of things, at least where those two dynamic personalities were involved.

After that, there wasn’t much left to say. They spoke more on the subject of Seishun and its succession, promised to exchange words in near future, and parted friends.

Shiraishi went home that night feeling disproportionately tired for someone who’d merely spent an hour drinking tea with a colleague.

~*~*~*~

Although his attendance was mandatory at the installation of his future brother-in-law as the new Lord of Rikkai, the banquet following the ceremony was hardly something Fuji cared to stay for. Considering all of the courtiers from the highest to the lowest ranks were present, he had doubly good reason to make a quick exit after briefly stopping to check on his baby brother, talking earnestly with the young Lady Tachibana and naturally, quite oblivious to the rest of the world.

Fuji was sure he’d been the first guest to leave. Which was why he was rather surprised to find an unexpected guest waiting for him when he returned home.

“Lady Yukimura. This is an unexpected pleasure.”

The lady rose as he entered the drawing room, and the two of them exchanged bows with subtle undercurrents of wariness, each surreptitiously sizing up the other, watching for the slightest change.

Lady Yukimura broke the deadlock first. “I hope you won’t think me too forward, Lord Fuji, to visit you so unexpectedly.”

“On the contrary, your presence graces my humble home.” Fuji had been surprised, and as a rule, he disliked being surprised. He therefore had no intention of letting anything escape him until he had her figured out. “May I offer you tea? Or anything else you might desire, if you would but command?”

“I would like a walk in your garden, my lord, if you would be pleased to accompany me.”

“Of course.” Fuji led her to the meticulously tended garden, though he motioned for a pair of attending maids to follow at a respectful distance. It would not do to sully a lady’s reputation by not having chaperones, even if the lady was likely to become his wife in the near future.

That was, of course, assuming the lady would give her consent. And the last he’d heard, she had yet to give her answer. But Fuji was nothing if not patient, so he merely fell in step next to her, waiting for her to speak.

“You are doubtlessly aware I have yet to give an answer to the proposal of marriage.” Fuji noted she called it “the proposal” and not “your proposal,” and nearly smiled. “Do I understand you correctly, Lord Fuji, that your consent is already given?”

“The proposal of marriage was made on my behalf, my lady.” Fuji’s reply was mild, and answered nothing. A probing shot. He watched her, gauging her response.

She turned to him with a pair of dark heather-gray eyes, intense and focused, and for a brief moment Fuji saw the image of her older brother superimposed over her face. Though both Yukimura siblings were beautiful, the shared traits lent Lady Yukimura’s face a more severe and masculine impression despite the delicacy of her features. “I labor under no illusion that the proposal made on your behalf so much as consulted you on the subject. Do me the courtesy, then, of doing the same for me.”

A lady with such sharp intelligence – and a sharper tongue – was rare. Fuji bowed to her, allowing her the point with grace. “My consent was given.”

The way her dark eyes scrutinized him was identical to her brother’s, and Fuji remained still under the silent examination, giving away nothing. Without taking her eyes off of him, she spoke again. “You and I have never spoken even once. Yet you tell me your consent was given before the proposal was delivered to me.” Her eyes bore into his steadily. “Therefore, knowing me would have not influenced your decision. Am I expected to do the same?”

“Of course not, my lady. And since you came to visit me, I presume that is one of your purposes: to know me.”

Lady Yukimura’s lips twisted briefly, as if out of habit, but it was quickly suppressed. “And what would be my other purposes?”

“To see my garden, perhaps.” Fuji’s voice never strayed from the mild, courteous tone of a courtier. “And to deliver your answer in person, if I may venture that far.”

“And after getting to know you, if my answer should change? What then, my lord?”

Fuji smiled at her. She was so different from Yuuta’s beloved young Lady Tachibana, who was equally intelligent and brave, but whose soul harbored no hardness, no shadow. Lady Yukimura shared Lady Tachibana’s strength and force of character, but there lay a sense of brittleness under her calm. It was the brittleness of something that would fracture into sharp crystalline shards, ready to bleed to death anyone who dared to touch, its core equal measure of pain and anger. That, at least, was something familiar to him.

So he offered the truth. “It shall be done as you wish.”

She was silent for a moment. Then, as if she could sense the truth in his words, she softened just a little. “You are the second person to offer me those words. I know they aren’t empty, but to me they may as well be.” A spasm of something passed over her brows, but she quickly controlled herself. “Do I displease you, my lord?”

“In no way.” Again, it was the truth.

“I merely do not please you, then.”

Another truth. But Fuji was a perceptive creature from birth. Besides, rumors in the palace courtyard easily penetrated every corner of the empire, no matter how distant from the capital. “A mutual failing, my lady.”

This time, the small quirk of her mouth shaped a rueful smile. “Quite so.” The two of them were nearly across the garden when she spoke again. “Yet you will be all right with this proposal.” It was not quite a question or a statement.

“It will not hinder me.” Then, feeling of fellowship under the same yoke inspired him to offer, “And I hope it will be the same for you.”

Lady Yukimura inclined her head. “Very well.” She met his eyes, dark and magnetic, all of her forceful will and inexorable soul in her gaze. “I will accept with one condition: be true to me.”

Be _true_ , she’d said. Not be _faithful_. Fuji knew instinctively she was like him. The faithfulness of the body alone, in the absence of the heart, would never satisfy either of them, so she would not expect it from either one of them. She knew what she offered and what she forgave – and what she required in return. A lady who knew her own worth and was unafraid to demand that it be recognized. He could do worse.

“With the same condition, then, Lady Yukimura – I accept.”

~*~*~*~

Elegant silk robes rustled as a young lady, lovely as the full moon, lightly stepped into her carriage. Something dropped to the ground, and she immediately leaned her hand on the curtain that served as a carriage door. Smiling, the slim young man who stood next to the carriage stopped her with a motion of his hand, and bent down to retrieve the fallen object for her.

He wiped the offending object – a silk folding fan – with the corner of his sleeve before handing it back to the lady, who accepted it through the carriage window with a gracious bow of thanks. Another exchange of polite bows, and the young man stepped back to let the carriage move forward. He watched until the carriage turned a corner and disappeared.

From the shadows cast by the wall, a figure stood watching the entire scene play out with utmost attention. As the young man turned around to go back inside, the figure started, as if to call out to him, but stilled. However, the young man turned his head, uncannily aware of being watched, and with an unerring precision found his silent watcher in the shadows.

The two stared at each other without a word for a long time. Then, the young man gave a curt nod, and turned to go.

“Wait.”

The young man paused at the threshold of the front gate. Seconds ticked by with neither of them speaking again, and Fuji – for it was he – sighed. “Yes?” he demanded, the sharp tone a jarring contrast to his usual mildness.

His watcher detached himself from the shadows, stepping into the afternoon sunlight. “Fuji,” he said in the way of greeting, then paused.

“Tezuka.” The name escaped Fuji’s lips almost against his volition, as if his lips were too accustomed to forming those syllables to forget them even through years of disuse. Then, Fuji sighed a little, and continued. “Come in.”

Tezuka obeyed without a word, following Fuji inside. Fuji led them to his drawing room, ordered a maid to bring some tea and refreshment, and gestured for his guest to sit.

“Who was it?”

Fuji’s glance was no less sharp than his tone earlier. “A guest of mine,” he informed Tezuka coldly. “To what do I owe this surprise?”

Surprise, not pleasure. Fuji was ever careful with his phrasing. Not a word passed through Fuji’s lips that he could not wholly vouchsafe, yet he never lost his polite circumspection. And Tezuka noted it with the same attention with which he’d observed Fuji’s interaction with the lady earlier. “You left early.”

“So did you.” They were interrupted by a polite knock, and Fuji moved to the door to accept the tray with tea and refreshment before closing the door behind him. Briskly he brought the tray to the table, and served the tea and the plate of sweets and fresh fruits. His lips were pressed in a thin line as he worked, never once looking at his guest.

“I was—” Tezuka stopped with uncharacteristic hesitation, then started again. “I wanted to speak to you.”

“Well, since you took the trouble of coming all the way here.” Fuji sat down, and picked up his cup of tea. “What did you want to talk to me about?”

Again, there was a moment of rare uncertainty passing over Tezuka’s face, too quick to grasp for anyone who did not know him well. With a silent, short intake of breath, Tezuka raised his eyes to regard his host seriously. “I heard you were to be married.”

“I am.” The sip of his tea, truth be told, was a bit too hot even for him. Fuji put it down without betraying any surprise, however, meeting Tezuka’s eyes without flinching.

“She is your betrothed, then?”

Fuji gave a negligent shrug of his shoulders. “She will be.”

“Do you...care for her?”

Fuji’s eyes flickered down toward his teacup, then returned to Tezuka’s face. “I’m sure I will learn to.”

“This marriage wasn’t your idea.” It was not a question.

“No.” Fuji kept his tone deliberately bland. “Would you prefer a different kind of tea?”

Tezuka looked down at the teacup in front of him as if seeing it for the first time. Taking at least a sip of any offered drink was the expected courtesy from a guest. He dismissed the subtle barb of Fuji’s words, and took a brief moment to examine the tea. Green tea. An unusual choice, as green tea’s unsophisticated flavor was considered more fitting for scholars and ascetics than courtiers. But Tezuka preferred green tea to more extravagant teas since childhood, a predilection he’d inherited from his grandfather.

A predilection few were aware of; Tezuka seldom drank it outside his own home. “No.”

There was a stretch of silence, an expectant kind, as each hoped the other to break the stalemate first. As more seconds ticked by, Fuji’s lips quirked briefly, forming a fleeting, rueful smile that disappeared as he shook his head. “Some things remain the same, then.” His eyes became unsmiling as he raised them to pin Tezuka with a bright blue gaze. “What do you want, Tezuka? I don’t care to keep this up all day. Yuuta will be coming home soon.”

Tezuka was silent. Just when Fuji wondered if Tezuka was ever going to answer, he spoke. “I have something you’ve left behind.” 

“Ah.” Fuji let out a quick breath. “A poor prize for what you’ve lost, I should think.”

“It’s not.” Tezuka never looked away, eyes boring into Fuji’s. “Do you want it returned?”

A frown touched Fuji’s face, taken off guard. “It’s of no use to you. Anyway, isn’t that why you’ve come?”

“You assume.” Tezuka’s words were those of an accusation, but something about his tone made them almost caressing. “That has always been your fault.”

“And you presume to know better,” Fuji snapped back, icy, shaking off any semblance of friendliness. “That has always been yours.” The next moment, Fuji wrestled back his control, ruthlessly controlling his expression. His voice, when it came, was scrupulously expressionless. “Were you even planning to return it?”

“Were you planning to take it back?”

Fuji’s expression tightened for a moment, rankled by the circumlocutory exchange. It was the kind of game he might play himself, but unexpected of Tezuka. Doubly so, since the last thing he expected was for Tezuka to be any good at it.

Either way, he wasn’t in the mood to go around in circles with Tezuka all day. “I missed,” he admitted, no longer pretending neither of them had any idea what their conversation was about. “That doesn’t mean I intend to live regretting it for the rest of my life.”

Something about Tezuka’s expression eased, as if a knot of invisible tension, the kind one would not even know existed until it was gone, had unwound itself. But as the tension bled away another kind was taking its place, like a man coming out of the storm only to brace himself for another.

“Fuji,” Tezuka said softly, and his tone brooked no doubt as to the truth of his words. “You never missed.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...Okay, this chapter is basically unchanged from its first draft. I KNOW the perspective is an issue in the last scene. I haven’t found a way to rewrite that while keeping what I need. For now I’m leaving it as is, and maybe I’ll try to edit that later.
> 
> One note about teacups. Tea has been a HUGE part of far eastern culture and there has been a great variety of teacups. The model I have in mind, used in this story, is actually very small one without a handle. It looks like a miniature tea bowl, small enough to hold with just one hand. The proper way to hold it, though, was with both hands.
> 
> NOW it’s hiatus for real. XD Thank you for your patience!


	9. Book II: Awakening Dragon – Chapter 09

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, it’s the first full moon of the lunar year again! To commemorate the occasion, here is a _**Sea of Hidden Dragon**_ double release. (So hit “Next Chapter” button after you’re finished with this one. There really is another chapter up!) Because, er, I feel hideously guilty for leaving y’all hanging for nearly a whole YEAR on this story. Sorry, mea culpa. For those who do not keep up with _**Et Cetera**_ my excuses included deaths in the family and other real life problems. If your default response is the raise of an eyebrow and a sardonic “You have a life?” come sit by me and we will be bestest friends ever. ♥
> 
> A word of warning: chapters 9 & 10 are flashback chapters. I promise it will be the only time for this story. And it is mostly just Tezuka and Fuji backstory. You know, why they’re so awkward when they meet up in chapter 8 and stuff. And this brings **Book II: Awakening Dragon** (which...doesn’t really have much to do with dragons or awakening, all told) to a close.
> 
> Next up will be **Book III: Storm**. Book III is where plot FINALLY starts to move forward. It is also known as TeniPuri Regional/National Best Moments: SoHD Style. Despite my best intentions, the book is SIX chapters long, from Chapter 11 to 16. Last book (IV) is also 6 chapters long (Chapter 17-22) and plot will move relatively quickly for that one. ~~If I can get the damned edits in.~~
> 
> Last but not least, this chapter is virtually untouched from its first draft at this time. I may have to revise again later. T__T

**SEA OF HIDDEN DRAGON**

와룡장해 :: 臥龍藏海

_by Shiraume_

[11/2012 & 11/2013]

**BOOK II: AWAKENING DRAGON**  


[02/22/2016 Version]

_Chapter 09_

_Suburban outskirts of Tokyo, Seishun’s capital city, four years ago._

Clear blue sky arched overhead. Sunlight was pale golden in hue, but still warm. Autumn colored trees with scarlet and yellow, and painted every field in gold. The air was dry and crisp, bringing out every color in full.

Thunder of hooves grew louder in a deserted road lined with colorful trees, shattering the afternoon quiet. A gray horse, so white that it was blinding in the sunlight, hurtled past, followed closely by another. The second horse was light bay, but its coat was of an odd, almost crimson hue. Breathless laughter from the first rider only spurred on the second rider on the bay horse, and the two galloped even faster until they were racing neck to neck.

Finally, the two passed an ancient tree circled with stone base – likely the warden tree of the village –at the same time. Then as one, both slowed to a halt.

“Another draw,” Fuji said, his voice a touch breathless. “I nearly had you this time.” His horse stamped its white legs on the dusty road, as if demanding why they have stopped. The ruddy bay horse wasn’t much better, snorting with obvious impatience.

“Nearly,” Tezuka conceded, reaching down to pat his horse’s neck, trying to calm it down. The spirited mount tossed its head, the white star-marking on its forehead flashing, but calmed under his touch. “But not quite.”

Fuji narrowed his eyes, only half playful. “One more run, then?”

“Tomorrow.” Tezuka nudged his horse forward, and his mount obeyed, walking quietly save for the twitch of its tail once in a while. “It will be dark by the time we return.”

“Tomorrow,” Fuji agreed. “Let’s stop by the well. We have two hours of riding ahead of us. We might as well get our horses a drink of water before we start.”

The walk to the public well was only minutes away from the village warden tree. At the well, they both dismounted. With a practiced familiarity of routine between them, Tezuka went to draw water from the well, and Fuji led both horses to the trough nearby for travelers and villagers to water their animals. They continued to work in silence until Fuji deemed their horses had sufficient water to drink their fill. Fuji then reached for a wooden ladle to offer water to Tezuka first, who received it with thanks.

“More?” Fuji asked with a smile, which Tezuka answered with a short shake of the head. Taking the ladle from Tezuka, Fuji drank one ladleful, then another, and stopped. “The water here is so much cooler and sweeter than in the city. I wonder why?”

“We’re both hot and thirsty. Any water would taste cool and sweet.”

Fuji shook his head. “You have no romance in your soul, Tezuka.”

“You have too much of it.” Tezuka’s tone was frank, but lacked barbed edge. As expected, Fuji only laughed.

“Between us we have just enough, then.”

Tezuka allowed a small quirk of his mouth in return. “Do you want to eat before we leave?” he asked, more practical concern taking the fore as he noted the position of the sun sinking lower in the sky.

Fuji shook his head no. “Not hungry. You?”

“Me neither. We’ll head straight back, then.”

Together, they put back everything where they found them and rechecked the horses, offering them treats and adjusting their equipage. Shortly after, they were both mounted and ready to go. The two riders started off at a more sedate pace than before, an easy run where they could appreciate the scenery while their horses kept moving forward. Occasionally they kept up a light conversation between them, mostly about the beauty of the countryside, the autumn, and their plans for tomorrow.

When they finally arrived at their destination, it was little after dusk, and everything was dark. The two of them had, by the force of habit, first gone to Fuji’s house. It was here that Fuji had spent the last few years while his father and brother traveled through the distant parts of the empire. Like most of the landed nobility in the empire, the Fuji family kept a few houses in different regions. While Fuji family’s main manor was located in the clan’s ancestral estate, there was a secondary house in Seishun’s capital, from where the elder Lord Fuji attended court. When he bothered to stay in town, anyway; most of the times, the current Lord Fuji was busy traveling with his younger son, Yuuta, to create intricate maps of the empire’s regions. Fuji’s father, the current Lord Fuji, was an eccentric man, said to be more interested in mountains and valleys than people. How on earth he’d won the heart of the beauteous Princess Yoshiko, the epitome of chic sophistication and grace in her youth, was a mystery never solved.

So accustomed to Tezuka as a visitor to the house, the attendant who’d brought them a lighted lantern reached for the reins to Tezuka’s horse automatically.

“I should head home,” he said, waving a hand to stop the attendant.

Fuji shook his head. “Stay. You know I don’t mind. It’s late and your parents would assume you’re staying with me, anyway.”

It didn’t take him long to decide. “All right. Thanks.”

“Come on. Let’s go have dinner and play a round of chess before we go to bed.” Fuji was already walking ahead, confident Tezuka would follow him. The room he went to was actually the game room, but the household attendants, used to their young master’s ways, quickly brought their dinner to the game room instead, spreading the meal on the table before withdrawing.

After dinner and two rather heated games of chess where they each won a match apiece, the two of them retired to the garden together. “I miss the large garden at my father’s manor,” Fuji commented after they traversed the entire span of the small garden. “That’s one thing I really miss from there: gardens. Chiba doesn’t have much in the way of gardens either, but at least there are really nice beaches there.”

Chiba was the capital of Rokkaku, an archipelago dominion off the eastern shore. Like the dominion it represented, Chiba was often considered the back and beyond by the rest of the empire, a rustic fishing village hardly on par with other dominion capitals, some of which had grand courts to rival the imperial capital. But Fuji harbored deep-seated affection for Chiba, perhaps unsurprisingly, given that he and his younger brother spent five years there.

“And my great-grandfather’s mansion in the imperial capital. That one has the best gardens. Your said the Tezuka estate manor has a large garden, right?”

“Yes.”

Tezuka’s short answers often annoyed those who bothered to try and have conversations with him. Aside from Oishi, Fuji was possibly the only one who didn’t take offense at his brusque answers. Inui didn’t count: the man talked at anyone who stayed within earshot for any length of period regardless of whether he was answered or even listened to.

True to the form, Fuji continued without a pause. “Too bad I don’t have a basis for comparison. How’s your grandfather’s bonsai collection doing? You mentioned your grandfather was planning to get some new ones this fall.”

“He has a dozen new projects.” Picturing the extensive collection displayed on the custom-made decorative shelves in a dedicated greenhouse, which occupied a place of honor in the garden, Tezuka came up with a rough estimate. “The total number has gone over a hundred and twenty pots, excluding those he planted back in the garden.”

“Your grandfather planted them?” Fuji’s voice was laden with incredulous laughter. “Why, whatever for?” Bonsai were regular trees restricted to small stature purely by human effort. Planting them back in the soil, where they were no longer limited to tiny pots for source of water and nutrients, would mean that they would resume growing at whatever pace that passed as normal for each particular species.

Tezuka shrugged. “He doesn’t like to keep the ones that do not meet his standards. But he doesn’t want to throw them out either, even if not every bonsai survives once planted.”

“Mm. It must be quite a sight, your estate garden. I’d like to see it.”

“If you’d like,” Tezuka said, and meant it. His parents found Fuji quite charming, and he had no doubt his grandfather would come to like Fuji as well. “We’d have to make it a trip.”

“How long?”

“It takes a two day’s ride to get there. So we should wait until the spring, when the days become longer.”

An odd expression crossed Fuji’s face. Before Tezuka could decipher it, however, Fuji’s usual smile replaced it. “If we have time then, sure.”

“We should be able to spare a week or two during spring,” Tezuka pointed out. Usually, Fuji would leap at any opportunity to go off and miss training. And Fuji rarely turned down an invitation from him.

“Who knows? We might be busy by then. Oh, by the way, did I tell you about the letter from my father? It arrived just the other day, and I think you’d like what it came with.”

Tezuka wasn’t sure if this was Fuji changing the subjects or Fuji being his usual whimsical self, but let it go. “What is it?”

“A map. Of the Haku Mountain range in Yamabuki. Father said he was sending me a copy for safekeeping. Would you like to see?”

“Yes,” Tezuka answered instantly. He’d always wanted to revisit the Haku Mountain range, the highest peak of which his grandfather had once taken him as a child. But the Haku Mountains were an extensive chain of mountains with more than a dozen peaks, and a precise map would be most welcome.

“Come with me to the study, then. We’ll take a look before we go to sleep.”

“Alright.”

~*~*~*~

The next day, Tezuka was summoned by his mother as soon as he returned home. When he entered his mother’s room, his mother was waiting for him with an anxious expression on her face. To see his mother so perturbed was rare, but he was even more startled by the mild disapproval that accompanied her first question. “Were you with Fuji-kun again last night?”

“Yes.” He’d stayed over at Fuji’s house many times before, and his parents had never objected. Nonetheless, he supposed he should have sent word home. “Forgive me for not sending a message. It was late when we arrived.”

His mother bit her lip, looking even less at ease. “Was Fuji-kun why you weren’t in attendance at the court yesterday? Master Ryuuzaki spoke to me. She asked what was keeping you so busy lately that you no longer have time to assist her in the training halls.”

Tezuka stiffened. There was no formal arrangement for him to regularly assist the Lady Ryuuzaki, more popularly called Master Ryuuzaki, in training the younger students. But it was also true that he’d been remiss, and in fact, he’d barely shown his face around the court this week. His grandfather would have been displeased.

“My deepest apologies, mother,” he said, bowing deeply. “I will rectify my behavior in the immediate future.”

Instead of being mollified, his mother seemed less upset but more unhappy with his answer. “That’s not what I meant, Kunimitsu. You’ve always been a good child, and your father and I couldn’t be prouder of you. It’s just...” She hesitated, a strained smile pulling at her lips. “Don’t you think you’re spending too much time with Fuji-kun lately? You shouldn’t be so partial about your friends.”

Again, it was the truth. “I will be more mindful,” he promised.

His mother looked as if she had more things she wanted to say, but she said nothing more, nodding at him in dismissal. Tezuka bowed and withdrew from her room.

Being scolded or even commented upon was a truly uncommon experience for Tezuka. His friends sometimes joked he was probably born the model way, too, and certainly, as long as he could remember, Tezuka had done his best to be an upright, hardworking, and dutiful son his parents and grandfather could be proud of. His interview with his mother rattled him enough that he found himself heading straight to the court that day, and he ended up staying an extra hour at the training hall to oversee the practice. Master Ryuuzaki raised an eyebrow at his sudden enthusiasm, but turned her class over to him without a comment, watching from the sidelines and only stepping in when Tezuka himself was too busy to do it.

“Didn’t figure you for a mama’s boy,” Master Ryuuzaki commented offhand while the two of them were writing progress reports about the training session.

If it had been anyone but her, he might have felt insulted. However, he respected Master Ryuuzaki, had been trained by her, and knew her well enough not to be offended by the blunt jab. “My apologies for neglecting my duties here, Ryuuzaki-sensei,” he said politely, bowing his head. “I will attend the training session regularly from now on.”

Master Ryuuzaki chuckled. “You don’t have to go quite that far. They’re not officially your duties yet. I can’t name you the adjutant master until you hit twenty, or I’d never get it past the old dotards in the council. Thank the gods your birthday’s in a month.” Her wizened eyes beheld him with amusement, and it took him conscious effort not to fidget under their penetrating regard. “I just wanted to know what you were doing on your days off. You’ve never used to have those before.”

Tezuka was unconvinced by her professed ignorance. Master Ryuuzaki always knew every last detail of what was happening in the court – and out of it. He doubted his recent escapades had truly escaped her attention. No, the question was, why did she suddenly decide to interfere? She’d never cared what the two of them got up to before, when both of them were under her tutelage.

“Nothing that warrants concern,” he reassured her, irritation beginning to rear its head.

“Tezuka. I consider myself numbered among your mentors. Out of all the students I’ve taught over the years, you are the best I’ve had, equaled by just one other. So take what I’m about to say as the concern of someone who has the right and the reason to worry about your well being.”

Taken aback by her serious tone, Tezuka bowed his head with a polite assent.

“Are you aware Kikumaru is the only person who’s spent less time than you in the court in the past four months since you lot returned from the imperial capital?” She raised a hand, forestalling Tezuka’s answer. “I don’t mean to imply you’ve slacked off in any way. I’ve empirical proof otherwise. But you’ve spent all your free time almost exclusively in the company of Fuji.”

Uncertain where this was going, Tezuka did not refute her. Besides, what she said was true.

“I know the two of you were close since Fuji came to stay at Seishun. I understand you missed each other while you and others were away at the imperial capital as Falcon Squad. But, while I don’t discourage friendship, four months is a long time to spend in anyone’s company, even your best friend’s. Perhaps it’s time to branch out and spend some time with your other friends?”

Master Ryuuzaki’s advice echoed his own mother’s, and it was something that did niggle at the back of his mind. He’d neglected his other friends, especially Oishi, and he intended to correct his oversight as soon as possible. “I will do so, sensei. My apologies for causing you concern.”

The smile on her aged face carried affectionate pride. “Trust me, you’ve caused me the least worry out of the whole lot. And...” She thumped him on the back, her hand carrying as much strength as that of a man. “Pay no mind to vicious rumors at court. Just crush a few big heads in the training hall, do a few demonstrations, and show up regularly. Come spring, things will quiet down.”

Vicious rumors? “Spring?”

Master Ryuuzaki raked a critical eye over him, the flicker of surprise melting away in her steely gaze. “When Fuji leaves,” she clarified. “He’s to return to the imperial capital in the spring. Didn’t you hear?”

“I wasn’t aware.” The news was a shock, because Fuji never once mentioned it. No. Tezuka’s quick and precise memory recalled Fuji equivocating and changing subject when the topic of a trip in the spring came up. Possibly, Fuji knew and had deliberately kept him in the dark. But why?

The rumors would calm down in spring, _after Fuji left_ , Master Ryuuzaki said. The nature of the rumor became suddenly transparent, and Tezuka frowned, his anger deepening. The two of them _had_ spent an inordinate amount of time together lately, he’d grant, but what part of their behavior, in public or in private, could possibly be misconstrued so much?

More importantly, however, he was rather annoyed with Fuji. There was no reason to try to keep Tezuka in the dark about his departure in spring. Besides, the imperial capital wasn’t the end of the world. They could still easily visit each other. Besides, Tezuka intended to pursue a career in the military, and once Tezuka gained court position high enough, he too would be required to reside in the imperial capital.

Or, Tezuka thought with a frown, perhaps the rumors had come to Fuji’s attention before this, and thought to keep a certain distance between them so as to disprove them. For his part, Tezuka was determined to ignore any gossips. He certainly wasn’t going to go out of his way to prove anything to anyone, or stop associating with Fuji.

After he finished with the reports, he took his leave of Master Ryuuzaki and went to find his friends. He found them gathered in a pavilion in the garden for lunch, and joined them.

“Tezuka,” Oishi said with surprise, then smiled. “Hey. Are you attending the court today?”

Although the court of Seishun was open daily to its officials, the Lord of Seishun, like other dominion lords, spent better half of the year at the imperial capital, so not everyone attended court every day. Senior members of the court were required to convene for a formal meeting at the beginning of every week, but younger members, like Tezuka and his friends, were left to their own devices to perform their duties on their own for the most part. Since Tezuka and his friends had only recently graduated from the Falcon Squad and returned from the imperial capital, they did not actually have defined duties until the Lord of Seishun formally granted them positions within the court and assigned their duties accordingly.

Of course, it meant the senior courtiers often saddled them with extra duties, such as archives, sorting reports, and writing correspondences. Oishi in particular was in high demand for his meticulous and efficient hand at paperwork. Inui seemed firmly entrenched in the research department, with some side projects in the pharmaceutical potions. Kawamura was assisting his father, and seemed to be enjoying himself. Kikumaru helped Oishi when he felt like it, and otherwise spent his time in the archives, the library, or training hall, dodging any and all work that came his way.

“Fujiko-chan’s not with you today?” Kawamura asked, referring to Fuji by the nickname of his own creation. His question sounded perfectly ingenuous, which meant either the rumors hadn’t spread that much yet, or his friends knew and didn’t believe them.

“No.”

“Pity.” Inui was scribbling something in his thick notebook. His obsessive record keeping was legendary. Tezuka had visited Inui’s private rooms before, and knew for a fact in this particular case, legend fell short of the reality. For one, the stories of Inui keeping a hundred notebooks’ worth of record were an underestimation by perhaps another hundred or more. “I have a new juice for him to try. I could use a second opinion.” His pointed look was directed at Tezuka, which Tezuka ignored completely. Glued to Oishi’s side, Kikumaru immediately shrank back until he was scarcely visible. What Inui oh-so-benignly called juices were concoctions of unknown origin and content, with the foulest tastes imaginable to ever grace the unfortunate palates of those around him. After a few members of their group passed out at the very taste of those juices, Inui had been sternly forbidden to test those juices on other people. Fuji, however, had a truly discomfiting and bizarre fondness for Inui’s juices, which often distressed Kikumaru who did not so much detest them as lived in mortal fear of them.

Their lunch passed without much fanfare, and it was only when they started to disperse that Oishi exchanged a significant look with Kikumaru before coming to intercept Tezuka.

“Can I talk to you in private?”

“Yes.”

Together, Tezuka and Oishi walked through the garden, and paused near one of the buildings dedicated to military training. They stopped at the archery range, which was deserted around this time. “I hear Fuji will be leaving us in spring,” Oishi said, and there was a hint of regret in his voice.

“So I’ve been told.” And Tezuka was definitely going to track down Fuji and talk to him about that the first chance he got.

“I heard the Empress summoned him. I hope it’s not...” Oishi hesitated. “Not – you know – because of the rumors.”

Ah, so Oishi and his other friends did know. “What sort of rumors?” Tezuka was mildly curious despite his indignation. While he had a good idea what the rumors were likely about, they had never reached his ears before Master Ryuuzaki mentioned them.

Of course, that could be because he’d been absent from the court so much lately.

Oishi started, and looked at him wide-eyed. “You know...the one about you and... Don’t tell me you haven’t heard?”

“I haven’t.”

Oishi looked away, looking a bit embarrassed. “We-well. It’s just, you and Fuji do spend a _lot_ of time together. You’ve never done that before, with anyone. And Fuji... I know you two just missed each other a lot, since we spent the last three years at the imperial capital and Fuji stayed here, but even Eiji doesn't spend that much time with Fuji. So...some people put the two and two together, and...got a few sticks short, apparently.”

“Ah.”

“Not everyone believes it, of course!” Oishi, always quick to support him, was fluttering in denial. “We don’t, and many people don’t. But, um, there was this messenger from the imperial capital earlier this week, and he was sort of asking around about it. I think he might have come from the Empress.”

“How long,” Tezuka asked with a carefully neutral voice, “has this rumor been going around?”

Oishi returned his look gravely. “If you mean when it started, a couple months. But – do you remember, ten days ago, when you and Fuji did a demonstration?” Tezuka nodded. “And, uh, how you two ended up – you know...” Oishi’s voice lowered with visible discomfort. “...in the equipment room?”

It took all of Tezuka’s considerable power of self control to not twitch in annoyance. The incident in question had been perfectly innocuous, an accident really, but the fact remained: Tezuka had been caught in a rather suggestive position with Fuji by the young ladies of the court. Problem was, one of the young ladies was known to be the biggest gossip in all of Seishun. While Tezuka was not in the habit of listening to gossips, he didn’t even want to imagine what embellishments might have been added to the story, which no doubt grew more and more grandiose and scandalous with each rendition.

“That was sort of...the oil added to the fire. Some people...” Oishi winced. He was one of the rare sorts who never could lie convincingly to save his life. “A lot of people have been talking about nothing but that this whole week.”

To make the matters even easier for the gossipers, Tezuka and Fuji had been absent from the court for equally long. And they had been seen together all around the city during that time, as any number of eyewitnesses could attest. Wonderful. No wonder Master Ryuuzaki and even his usually imperturbable mother were concerned.

“Anyway, if that’s why Fuji didn’t come today, just tell him that we’re his friends and know better than to believe those silly rumors.”

“I’m sure he knows already.” Tezuka rather doubted anything could keep Fuji away if he didn’t wish it. “He’ll be back.” And if Fuji didn’t return today, he’d visit Fuji at home. They needed to talk.

Oishi nodded. “Well. It’s good that you’re not, um, bothered. Because I half wondered if that’s what kept you two away this whole week. I’m glad you guys are okay.”

“Sorry. I was kept busy.” He nodded to Oishi. “I’ll let Fuji know you were concerned.”

“Okay. Oh, I almost forgot. I had something to tell you. I found something for you while I was sorting through the correspondences. It’s not official yet, but Lord Yamato sent word he’d like you to take over the training of Seishun’s corps as his proxy. Basically, he wants you to take over for him in managing our military forces. The council will have to approve, of course, but I don’t think anyone will raise a serious objection. It’ll probably come up in the next meeting, so make sure you come, okay?”

“Understood. Thank you, Oishi.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thing about Tokyo – I know in canon reality Hyoutei, Fudomine, St. Rudolph and Yamabuki are ALL from Tokyo. I debated coming up with a random city name, or even leaving it unnamed, but I already am leaving the actual empire unnamed in the story. I think for simplicity’s sake, it will be Tokyo for Seishun. No other dominion capital city comes up in the story, but if I end up putting names during revisions, hell, I’ll just make this up as I go. That, I’m very familiar with. :D
> 
> .........okay, I TRIED, but hell, there’s too much information to cover. More notes on political structure to come. Later. Way later.


	10. Book II: Awakening Dragon – Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **[ETA: Whoops, that’s susuki grass, not Suzuki. That’ll teach me to double-check my sources. Thank you for the correction, anonymous commenter!**

**SEA OF HIDDEN DRAGON**

와룡장해 :: 臥龍藏海

_by Shiraume_

[11/2012 & 11/2013]

**BOOK II: AWAKENING DRAGON**  


[02/22/2016 Version]

_Chapter 10_

Fuji was not at home when Tezuka called later that afternoon. The servants had no idea where their young master had disappeared to, and weren’t terribly worried, as Fuji did this quite often. Tezuka carefully considered the likeliest places before heading to the riverbank.

There was a small river that passed through the eastern edge of the city of Tokyo. It was actually a tributary of a much larger river – the Black River – which ran through nearly the entire length of the empire, neatly bisecting Seishun’s dominion into twin halves. The Black River itself was too wide for bridges, but on the small river that crossed eastern part of Seishun’s capital, there were three bridges. One of them was a stone bridge and quite picturesque, with green moss and algae clinging to its surface. Past the bridge, on the other side of the river, within shouting distance from the riverbanks was a small meadow, where susuki grass thrived with an unusual vim. There, the grass grew so dense that it was well nigh impossible to navigate through them without sustaining cuts from the blades of the grass. For that reason, children were strictly forbidden from playing in that meadow. In fact, most adults preferred to stay away from this troublesome patch of ground.

Which made it a favorite place for Fuji. As he expected, he found Fuji’s favorite white stallion grazing nearby. The horse’s rein wasn’t secured, but it made no attempt to run, looking on serenely as Tezuka approached. Its rider was nowhere in sight, but there was a slight disturbance in the ranks of the susuki grass and their pale flower stalks. Tezuka eased through them gently, just the way Fuji showed him once, and soon found his quarry sitting quietly amidst the grass.

“Fuji.”

Fuji sat with his knees propped up, armed folded with his chin resting on top. As he approached, Fuji raised his head, but didn’t look at him. “Hey.”

Tezuka waited until they were close enough to touch before speaking. “I attended the court today.” A short pause. “I heard something.”

“I thought as much, when you didn’t come visit me after you went home.”

Fuji’s eyes were still fixed straight ahead without looking at him, and it irritated Tezuka. “Why didn’t you come to court?”

“I had no reason to.” Fuji’s voice was carefully neutral. “So – what did you hear?”

Tezuka moved until he was standing directly in Fuji’s line of sight. “That you’re leaving in spring. Why didn’t you tell me?”

Fuji met his eyes for the first time. “Was that the only thing you heard?”

“No.” Tezuka’s brows creased a tiny bit, irritation steadily growing. “So you did know.”

“I did.” Fuji’s eyes were intent, devouring him. “I didn’t tell you because...” Fuji trailed off, took a careful breath, then continued. “My reasons will differ based on what else you’ve heard today. If not in their content, at least in their priority.”

The crease between Tezuka’s brows deepened. Tezuka didn’t care for a differential reasoning, but there was no hint of joking or teasing in Fuji’s mannerism. He might as well answer truthfully and see what reason Fuji gave. “I heard there has been a rumor about us.”

Fuji nodded, but was silent, his expression perfectly blank. “I take it you weren’t too impressed by it.”

“No.” There was a full pledged frown on Tezuka’s face by now. “Fuji,” he called, voice turning harder. “Don’t tell me you were absent because of _that_.”

A smile curved Fuji’s mouth, but did not reach his eyes. “Not for the reason you’re suggesting.”

“You can’t be scared of gossip,” Tezuka challenged. Slowly, Fuji met his eyes, and there was a passionate intensity behind those blue eyes again. Slowly, Fuji pulled himself to his feet. They were almost nose to nose. There was scarcely a foot between them, and the ground was uneven, Fuji on a slight elevation that put them nearly on eye level. Fuji’s eyes were very blue, very serious, and somehow uncertain.

“Not of the gossip, no.”

Before Tezuka could ask what he meant, Fuji leaned forward to catch his lips in a gentle kiss.

Stunned, it took Tezuka a moment to register the action – and the implication – correctly, and by then, Fuji had broken the kiss, leaning back to look at his face. The uncertainty in Fuji’s eyes was stronger than ever, but Fuji met his gaze fearlessly.

“I would,” Fuji said softly, “appreciate an answer.”

Tezuka had to clear his throat before he spoke again. “You don’t know it already?”

Fuji’s lips quirked, but the smile was fleeting. “Never with you.” Tezuka found he had no answer to that, and made half aborted attempt to clear his throat again. Fuji didn’t smile. “I meant I would appreciate your answer at your earliest convenience, of course. When you are thus disposed, you know where to find me. Since you always do.”

Fuji then slid past him. Before he could take another step, however, Tezuka’s hand shot out to grab him by the wrist. “Does—” Tezuka stopped, then reconsidered his words. “Will my answer change anything between us?”

Fuji gave the question serious consideration before replying. “Not unless you wish it to.”

That was a fair answer, worthy of Fuji. Tezuka nodded. “Very well.”

“I’m sure you’ll give it due consideration. In the meantime, you’ll excuse me if I make myself scarce?” Before Tezuka could answer, Fuji eased his wrist out of Tezuka’s grip, and was lost in the thicket. Minutes later, Tezuka heard the sound of hooves, growing fainter as Fuji rode away.

~*~*~*~

The sun was near the horizon when Tezuka returned home, streaking the western sky with red and gold. Pale wisps of clouds were arranged in neat pattern, like the magnificent plumage of a bird. Fuji had once compared a similar sight to the wings of the legendary Guardian of the South, the Suzaku. All red and gold, he’d said, like Suzaku had flown across the sky, leaving behind a handful of its beautiful feathers scattered in the wake.

The memory spurred Tezuka on to ponder the same question that had occupied his entire attention the whole afternoon since meeting Fuji. However, he was no closer to an answer than when he’d first started. Consequently, Tezuka was still preoccupied when he went to pay his respects to his mother, but he wasn’t so distracted as to miss the obvious question on her usually calm mien.

Master Ryuuzaki had spoken to her, she’d said. And Master Ryuuzaki had been concerned about the unsavory rumor currently circulating at the court. Then, presumably, Master Ryuuzaki had made her concerns known to his mother. Finally his mother’s reaction in the morning made sense to him, though not _why_. Though often considered a model wife and exemplary mother, upholding every convention, behind his mother’s impenetrable serenity was an eccentric and whimsical nature which was anything but conventional. A romantic relationship between two males, while not formally recognized, was hardly unheard of, and such relationship was mostly regarded as unspoken reality, much like extramarital affairs. But extramarital affairs could bring not only dishonor to the family but cause rifts in carefully cultivated clan alliances. Same-sex relationship was certainly not one to be admitted in public, but as long as it didn’t also involve extramarital affairs, and provided involved parties remained discreet and fulfilled minimum social obligations in terms of heirs, same-sex relationships could be swept under the floorboards in favor of keeping the family names free of scandals. His mother, like Master Ryuuzaki and Oishi, had pointed out he spent inordinate amount of time with Fuji. But even supposing there had been such a relationship between himself and Fuji, why would it bother her so much? While he was the only son and heir to his family, he rather doubted such commonplace concerns would have caused her worry.

“You are troubled, Kunimitsu.”

He never could get it past her when he was distracted. Although considering she was his mother, perhaps it was no surprise. “Forgive me. I have something on my mind.”

His mother sighed. “Is it my fault?”

“No.” His response was more a reflex than a truth. At the same time, she wasn’t the immediate cause of his distraction, so it wasn’t a lie, per se. A voice in his head, sounding suspiciously like Inui, remarked he’d been hanging around Fuji too long if he was quantifying half-truths.

“Fuji-kun, then.” Her eyes were downcast, the troubled expression like dark clouds over her clear forehead. Tezuka couldn’t deny this one, so remained silent. As seconds ticked by in silence, his mother sighed, closing her eyes. Then, she opened her eyes and raised her head, looking directly at him. “Kunimitsu. Do you understand why I’m worried?”

He was always honest with his mother, even if he’d never been the kind of child who shared his every thought with her. “No, mother.”

His mother nodded once. “I thought perhaps you might not.” Her eyes regarded him gravely, but not unkindly. “Before I say anything, I must ask this: what is he to you?”

That was the very question he’d been pondering since the afternoon. And he still didn’t have an answer. This wasn’t the kind of topic he normally would broach with his own mother, but she was asking, and he needed the answer as much as she did. More, even.

“I don’t know,” he replied honestly.

“Fuji-kun is important to you. You two have been the best of friends ever since you two met. You’ve never been drawn to someone like this before. Not even to Oishi-kun, who was your best friend for years before that.” While Yamato Ayana ostensibly maintained a strictly hands off approach to parenting, it was clear nothing her son did escaped her. “And there are those who believe they read more than friendship in the way the two of you look at each other.” She paused just long enough for that to sink in before she went on. “Now I’m asking you: is there?”

Tezuka remained silent. He’d had a best friend before, in the form of Oishi. But in the recent years, especially during their time together in the Falcon Squad, Oishi’s increasing closeness with Kikumaru had occasionally made him feel left out, like a third wheel next to their seamless partnership. In the empire’s martial arts traditions, partnered warriors were uncommon, but the small number of pairs that endured presented a formidable challenge. In contests, paired combat often featured, as teamwork was indispensable even in a melee and paired fights presented a good practice. Oishi and Kikumaru were one of the stable pairs, and were rapidly gaining fame to rival even that of the famous pair in Yamabuki, and Rikkai. After three years in Falcon Squad, Kikumaru was now indisputably Oishi’s best friend and partner.

Yet, he could not imagine for the life of him fighting in pair with Fuji by his side. In some odd ways, Fuji felt more like a rival than a partner. Perhaps it went all the way back to their first meeting, when Fuji had become the first and only person to get the better of him in archery. Tezuka was himself no mean archer; he’d been the winner of the archery contest and every category there was in Seishun for years. Fuji, however, managed a narrow win. Ever since, Fuji was someone he always had to measure up to, before whose presence he didn’t wish to show any weaknesses. Spending time with Fuji was unique because there were dual layers to their meetings: on one level, he could relax and be himself, but on the other level, every little competition was part of an ongoing battle for upper hand. Their mutual awareness of both layers of their time together made it that much more invigorating, more exciting.

So what did that make the two of them? Rivals, best friends – or more? Fuji wanted more, he said. Did Tezuka?

His mother waited him out patiently. When he still failed to answer, she sighed, more deeply this time. “I thought as much. It honestly didn’t occur to you Fuji-kun is different. Rather, that you treat him a bit differently. Has anyone else, including your own family, occupied so much of your time and attention before? Yet you never thought to wonder what it meant.”

“Would it trouble you?” His question wasn’t a demand, but an honest query. He wouldn’t have imagined it should.

“Yes.” A gentle smile played over his mother’s lips. “Not for the reasons others expect, I imagine. But I don’t want you to become unhappy, Kunimitsu.”

Tezuka couldn’t help a slight frown at this. “You mean, if Fuji and I were to become more than friends, it would make me unhappy.”

The look his mother gave him was heartbreakingly gentle. “Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because it wouldn’t work out. You two would never be allowed to be together. Are you really unaware, my son, that the Empress checks on the poor boy at least twice a month? She exiled Fuji-kun and his younger brother, yes, but they have never truly been out of her sight even once. In particular, Fuji-kun has always been the favored one of the two. Which means his fate is not his own. It is quite possible that the Empress had a hand in Fuji-kun’s decision not to accompany his father on his travels even while his younger brother does. Why do you think she recalls him now?”

The circumstances surrounding the Fuji brothers’ exile were hardly a secret. Everyone knew of their older sister’s flight to avoid an arranged marriage. The Empress had once been deserted by her own older sister, Princess Yoshiko, who also chose love over duty. Twice now betrayed, the Empress’s wrath was terrible, especially against her older sister. It was widely whispered that the Empress meant to punish Princess Yoshiko, and so her sons were sent away separately. While Princess Yoshiko was confined to house arrest in her husband’s house at Seishun, her two sons were sent to Rokkaku, and by the time the two boys joined their father at Seishun, Princess Yoshiko had been relocated to the imperial capital by the Empress’s orders. Although the Empress did allow the boys to visit their parents every year, the visits were invariably short and closely monitored. In effect, for nearly ten years poor Princess Yoshiko had been forbidden to live with her own children.

So why _would_ the Empress recall Fuji now? Was a decade sufficient time to mollify even the iron heart of a tigress, or was the wily phoenix gathering her chess pieces for another gambit?

“Is her family nothing but tools of ambition for her?” he asked in lieu of an answer. His mother looked at him sadly, but shook her head.

“Not quite. I was one of her companions in youth. And I count myself a friend to Princess Yoshiko. The Empress does love her family, particularly her older sister. That’s why she was so harsh in punishing her sister. She wasn’t just angry, but hurt by what she perceived as a betrayal. I wouldn’t doubt a good part of her constant monitoring is out of genuine concern for Fuji-kun’s well being.” His mother hesitated, then continued, voice turning rueful. “But as long as Fuji-kun remains her family, he _will_ be drawn into her plans. To the Empress, even love must be subsumed to tactics. She may appear she is punishing her sister for her choice of long ago. But the truth is, the Empress would have done the same to her sister’s children no matter what choice Princess Yoshiko made. Unless Princess Yoshiko’s choice had been the one her family expected of her – to become the Empress herself.”

Tezuka mulled over it, then raised his eyes to his mother’s face. “Has my behavior already convinced you that there is more than friendship between Fuji and myself?”

A faint smile crossed his mother’s lips. “I’ve always thought the simple word of friendship would be a poor name to contain all that you share with Fuji-kun. But – from what Master Ryuuzaki tells me, others have begun to define it, and I cannot think the Empress remains ignorant of this matter. I’d hoped...” She searched his face, and whatever she saw there didn’t seem to alarm her, but did nothing to ease her concern, either. “I’d rather hoped you would realize what was happening, and steer this affair in another direction, to less troubled waters.”

Meaning what? That her hopes had been proven in vain? Tezuka himself was unaware if a change had taken place inside him, at least, not the kind of change Fuji obviously hoped for, but it seemed his mother had divined an answer already.

“Would you be disappointed by my choice, if I—”

“Kunimitsu,” his mother said, cutting him off gently but firmly. “You could never disappoint me. The only way you could is to become a coward, to abandon everything that makes you who you are. And even then I would love you still. You are my son, and dearer to me than the whole world. And you’ve always been good and honorable, courageous and just. No mother could be prouder, or happier than I am.” Her smile turned sad around the corners, but her eyes were still warm and loving. “But I _am_ a mother, and I want my child to be happy.” Gently, she reached out to caress her son’s cheek with fingers that were soft but callused from countless hours of handling a bridle. Before her marriage, she had been an avid equestrienne. After a fall that cost her an unborn daughter, who would have been Tezuka’s much older sister, she’d given up riding for good. He’d been the price of her lost freedom.

Sometimes, in his more somber moods, Tezuka wondered if she thought the price worthwhile.

“I hope for it always,” his mother continued, with the same loving look in her eyes. “You will make your choice with honor, and with all your heart in it. I know that. That’s why, it may take years before you see it, but your choice will be the right one. I just hope it will be the one that makes you happy, too.”

There was nothing he could say in reply. With deepest affection and respect he could manage, Tezuka covered her hand with his own, then brought it to his lips.

That night, Tezuka took leave of his mother with a contemplative frame of mind. Even with his formidable discipline honed through all of childhood and youth, it took him a long time to shake off all the distracting thoughts and fall asleep.

~*~*~*~

The next day, Tezuka briefly considered attending the court, then dismissed the thought. Instead, he headed out at dawn for the suburbs just outside the city, to a small but beautiful mountain cradling Seishun’s capital from the west.

Two hours of climbing allowed him to reach the summit, where he once spent many summer days training for numberless hours. Even now, he visited the same spot time to time. The customary practice routine of the sword stances and cuts cleared his mind, and after about an hour of practice, he sat down to rest in the shade cast by a large rock.

His best friend. Yet nothing like Oishi, who could complete his every thought like a second self, or an extension of himself. His fiercest rival. But with a bone-deep, instinctive familiarity and implicit understanding, resulting in a fiery competitiveness without bitterness. Not a mirror image; Fuji could never be that, not to him. Rather, Fuji was like the negative space that formed an image unto itself. As several people closest to him had observed, he had never found himself so intensely and thoroughly drawn to another human being before Fuji. In all the time they’d known each other, Fuji was one of the few whom he considered the most important in his life.

His thoughts were inevitably drawn back to the memory of the kiss, which had been so short and sudden that he barely realized what was happening at the time. He remembered Fuji’s breath, warm on his face. Fuji’s lips, soft and dry, warm against his own. 

A jolt of surprise shook him as he realized he could draw out the contours of Fuji’s mouth, the subtle curve of his cheeks, every shift of color in his eyes, and each curl of his eyelashes length by length. Fuji’s hands, fine-boned, with slender wrists and long fingers that moved with such grace and strength over the bowstring. Every subtle shade of Fuji’s smile, and the myriad of emotions behind them, as mesmerizing as the shifting colors of the light. He’d always thought Fuji handsome, that was not new. Beautiful, even, with a boyish charm tempered with a touch of unusual elegance that was not quite masculine or feminine. But there was a vast difference between noting the aesthetic appeal of another human being and the detailed cataloguing of every feature his mind had unconsciously undertaken.

And the problem remained, that the Empress had recalled Fuji, and Fuji, barring some event to prevent him, would return to the imperial capital come spring. However, Fuji had approached him, and indicated in no uncertain gesture that he had feelings for Tezuka. If Fuji had been anomaly in Tezuka’s life, he knew he was likewise an irregularity in Fuji’s. Fuji would not have confessed to such feelings lightly, of that he was certain, but to what end had Fuji made his feelings known? Especially now, scarce months before his departure?

_His fate is not his own_.

No. There was no way someone like Fuji would accept such a thing. If Fuji could submit to his life being manipulated under the lily-white fingertips of the Empress, then the brilliant, indomitable spirit Tezuka felt while Fuji wielded his bow was a lie.

Tezuka swiftly gathered his effects and stood. His descent took less time than the ascent, and his ride back to the city was even swifter. He sought Fuji’s house directly, and learned he was once again gone for parts unknown. Without hesitation, Tezuka headed to the meadow of susuki grass that Fuji so favored.

~*~*~*~

Fuji looked up at the sound of footsteps without alarm. His horse was a reliable watch, and would not have taken kindly to a stranger approaching. As he expected, it was Tezuka, who looked no different from usual, though a closer examination pointed to tiredness.

“I didn’t expect to see you today,” Fuji said quietly. Truthfully he hadn’t. He’d thought Tezuka would take a few days, possibly weeks to consider the matter and give his answer.

“You said nothing had to change,” Tezuka said. Fuji nodded. His heart wasn’t given lightly, and he certainly didn’t plan to give it with strings attached. If Tezuka refused him, he would do his best to preserve their current relationship as it was. “Why did you tell me then?”

The direct question was so characteristic of Tezuka, but it was also utterly unexpected. Fuji spent a moment composing his startled thoughts, and decided to keep the policy of honesty on the subject. “Because I would like us to become more than friends,” he admitted. Then, he amended more slowly, “Become lovers.” Saying the word aloud irrationally made it ring hollow, almost false, and Fuji fought to shake off the unease. Tezuka deserved honesty. And of all the things, this was the matter of their hearts. If in nothing else, in this he needed to give truthful answers.

Tezuka nodded once. His eyes were unclouded and never once wavered, but they were thoughtful. “For how long?”

Another curveball. Fuji bit his lip, then released it. “Until I leave in the spring.” It wasn’t something he liked remembering, the end of his carefree, happy days.

“And after that?” Tezuka demanded. The seriousness of the question startled Fuji, and he sucked in a short breath. There was no after. He had no illusions about his life after he returned to the imperial capital. One could easily play the marriage games with a son as easily as with a daughter. The Empress had lost her niece, the Peony of the Empire, but she had two nephews left. She was unlikely to forget that, and had indeed shown that she hadn’t. He would have to marry according to his aunt’s desires, to form an alliance – a fate that his sister Yumiko abandoned ten years ago.

“After that,” Fuji said, careful to allow no emotion to enter his voice, “I will have to abide by my family’s decision.”

“You will return to the imperial capital,” Tezuka said. It was not a question. “You will then marry according to the wishes of the Empress, your aunt.”

There was no way to equivocate. “Yes.”

Something in Tezuka’s eyes became sterner. The line of his mouth was somehow harder. “You will live out your whole life as she commands.”

Fuji flinched. What Tezuka accused was the truth. But he'd promised. He still remembered the night Yumiko left the family forever. Finding Yumiko’s most treasured possession, their great-grandfather's precious bow, carefully wrapped in silk and placed on his own bed. Rushing to Yumiko's room, full of apprehension only half-understood. Finding the beautiful rose-colored silk robes flung on the bed. Long, thick locks of wavy brown hair strewn carelessly on the floor. Discarded.

He had been young, only nine years old, but he sat on his sister's bed clutching the bow, too large for him then, and understood in his heart that his sister was gone and would never return. When his mother found him with a lock of brown hair twined around his hand, she'd cast one swift glance around the room, divined what she needed, and came to gather her son in her arms. No words, not then and not ever. From the minute tremor in his mother's hands as they rubbed his back, he understood while he'd lost a sister, his mother has lost a daughter. He didn’t understand her pride, mingling with her tearless and heartbroken grief, but nonetheless promised to himself that he would never make her lose another child, would never cause her the same pain. Besides, if he refused an arranged marriage, who would the Empress turn next but his precious baby brother Yuuta? Yet, put in those words, accompanied by Tezuka's disapproving gaze, his promises suddenly felt like iron shackles weighing him down, almost provoking a panicked urge to break free.

“My family is the most important part of my life,” he said steadily, as much to himself as to Tezuka. “I will not compromise my family for my personal desires.” A reminder. A renewal of an old vow. But – until spring, five months still remained. Those precious months were still his own, and for just that long, he was free to live as he wished. That was why, as soon as he received the summons from his aunt, he had decided to tell Tezuka how he felt.

Tezuka was looking increasingly tight-lipped. Patiently, Fuji waited. He knew how to do that; for the past nine years he had done nothing but.

“You would ask for us to become lovers. But only until spring, when you return to the imperial capital, and cease living for yourself.” Tezuka’s mouth pressed to a thin line.

It was Fuji’s turn to frown. With effort, he smoothed out his brows, putting a more neutral expression on his face. “It is all I can offer.”

Tezuka was silent for a long time. There was a shade of storm in his dark eyes, but his thoughts were shielded, shuttered behind an unchanging expression. Finally, Tezuka met Fuji’s eyes, holding them with inexorable intensity. “My answer is no.”

Sucking in a quick breath, Fuji exhaled carefully and suppressed his emotions from flaring up wildly. After all, he’d always known Tezuka might not return his feelings and refuse him. He’d given his word that nothing had to change between them. And Fuji had every intention of respecting Tezuka’s decision. “I see.”

Tezuka’s eyes never flinched away from his. There was a dark, unfathomable depth to his straightforward gaze. All the force of a storm, controlled with an unrelenting will. Controlled, but not abated. Tezuka’s voice never rose, never gained any inflection but the usual unflappable calm, yet cut like a razor-sharp blade. “Unlike you, I don’t play at being in love.”

Fuji stiffened at the unexpected attack. “I – see.” Rejection was one thing, but ridicule was not something he’d expected from Tezuka. What scraped slivers of sharp glass in his throat was _hurt_ , the kind he’d felt only once before, when his younger brother rejected his companionship in favor of another’s, never seeing through or – perhaps worse – not caring about the conniving nature of that chosen companion. The kind he never expected to feel again, least of all at the hands of Tezuka Kunimitsu. But Fuji has always been proud, and in a few moments anger replaced the hurt, blazing hotly enough to burn out anything but the desire to walk away, with his head held high and his dignity intact. Fuji Syuusuke wasn’t ever going to beg, or plead his case more than once.

“I’m sorry for wasting your time,” Fuji said evenly, fighting to keep the shreds of his composure. Tezuka might have answered something, possibly in kind, but Fuji did not hear it. He was walking briskly away, heedless of the blades of susuki grass cutting into his hand as he carelessly pushed past them. Fuji didn’t remember mounting and galloping away, though he must have, since hours afterward, he found himself meandering through the suburbs still on horseback. When he returned home, the waning quarter moon was high in the sky. It was a cold and cloudless night, heralding the coming winter. Only five months remained until spring, when Fuji had to leave Seishun’s capital.

In that time, Fuji never saw Tezuka Kunimitsu again.

**END OF BOOK II: AWAKENING DRAGON**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of my greatest regrets for this story is that I could find no room for Tezuka/Fuji development on-screen. Not with all these political plot stuff kept happening. So once again, flashback backstory to the rescue. I’m so sorry, Tezuka and Fuji. At least _**Inverse**_ and _**One Week**_ are both purely relationship development for Tezuka and Fuji? That’s two out of...er...
> 
> ...Never mind. Tezuka and Fuji: their love story is so appendixed. XD


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